Samsara
by Zerbinetta
Summary: The Circle makes, the Circle breaks, but it never, ever stops turning. "Hey, I remember you from the Tower!" "Hey, I wish I didn't!"
1. One

After I finished Awakening with a mage PC, a small story popped into my head and I want to get it out before the idea becomes old and unusable. This shouldn't be more than seven or eight chapters, possibly less, and doesn't mean that Ever After won't be updated.

I'm not entirely certain whether the mage PC here is Nimue or another one, but I'll just have to wait and see on that. Comments regarding that and the rest of the story are entirely welcome. I found that I'm actually glad there wasn't any romance in Awakening beyond very gentle teasing courtesy of Anders, because I'm not entirely certain I could have chosen between him and Nathaniel. Shame on you, Bioware, though, because I know you could have pulled it off.

Anyway, enough of that, read and review please, and, most of all, enjoy.

**o.O.o**

**One**

**o.O.o**

The first time he escaped from the tower couldn't be counted among his actual escapes, for several reasons.

One, he had yet to reach the tower itself. That particular incident happened on the day he was being brought in as an apprentice mage. One obviously couldn't escape from a place he wasn't present at. One rocky little boat, two armored templars and a ferryman whistling a sickeningly pleasant tune to himself. What _joy_ to travel in such company!

Two, it wasn't an escape in the normal sense of the word. It wasn't as if he planned to have the boat start rocking thanks to the waves courtesy of a sudden summer thunderstorm that erupted mid-journey (the templars had hoped to cross the lake as soon as possible) and have it flip over so that he could escape. Still, never let it be said that such an opportunity should go to waste.

Three, the actual escape lasted for about ten minutes - fifteen, if you counted the rest of the sullen boat journey – as the templars managed to catch him, fish him out of the lake and get him across. They were surprisingly apt swimmers, once they shed their cuirasses to prevent themselves from sinking, but twelve-year-old Anders supposed anyone carrying that stupid armor around all the time had to be. Despite the rain and the potential drowning, they had kept their helmets on, which said everything one needed to know about their intelligence.

And four, no one really acknowledged it as an escape attempt; just bad weather conditions. And at that point, he wasn't about to start correcting them.

For three-and-a-half years, he had very successfully been hiding his own magical ability, using just a bit of it here and there to help himself survive. Unfortunately, he had to admit that trying to pickpocket someone while listening to the Revered Mother preach in the Denerim Chantry and then reflexively reach out for whatever sliver of magic he possessed to get out of that mess hadn't been his brightest idea.

Sure, he had gotten out of that scrape (he was _smart_, after all), but a recognized thief knew quite well that the chase couldn't go on forever. Besides, while the templars didn't seem to have much room for brains under their bucket helmets, they still had eyes and a good deal of muscle.

And, you know, _swords_. _Sharp _ones.

Kinoch Hold, or the Tower of Magi, as it was more commonly known, would have been more impressive if it wasn't squat in the middle of nowhere. It was like a lighthouse, straight in the middle of the lake, a tower three times as tall as any of the Denerim houses; possibly even Fort Drakon, the fear of every con and cutpurse in town. But whereas the prison was associated with red in everyone's mind, Kinoch Hold could best be described as _blue_. Not due to the waters or the night; but because there was the light of magic inside. Even now, he could feel some of it.

"Looks like they've rolled out a hasty welcome wagon for you, lad." the ferryman noted kindly as they were nearing the small dock near the end of the ruined bridge leading over the lake. At that point, Anders would have most gleefully whacked him with his own paddle.

It was a prison, every thief's fear, this place. After all, he could see the warden already.

The Knight-Commander of the templars had been alerted of the approaching boat only due to the dreadful weather outside; the watch had been unsure as to what they should do. After it became clear that the foursome would make it across – soaked, but alive – it was too discourteous to leave so abruptly, especially since he made a point of keeping civil relations with Kester.

Somehow, with his stone-colored eyes and unmoving features, this man achieved the statue look all templars thought was the rage without any trying – without a helmet, even. And while the magenta-and-purple skirt seemed silly on the others, Anders wasn't certain he could easily talk back to someone whose capacity for taking a joke seemed less than a spoonful.

"I see you've made it safely. See to it that our ferryman gets a warm meal and dries himself off." Hard, but fair. The Knight-Commander looked most peculiar when he was offering niceties, though. "You can stay the night, if you want, Kester."

The upbeat ferryman didn't seem terrified of the templar-in-chief, but neither did he appear too keen to stay. "No, no, Lissie likes her own home best, the dock here is too deep for her. The storm'll pass in less than an hour and I'll be off then, unless you need someone brought over to the shore."

"Not today, no." That apparently counted as a dismissal; the ferryman gave Anders one more irritating smile, which the boy ignored, and followed another templar away to get his food and warmth. He was apparently as bewildered by the inside of the tower as a permanent resident should be. "Ser Banan. Ser Reily." If the templars had looked silly in their armor, the linen shirts they wore under their armor looked downright hilarious with the skirts. Especially when combined with the buckets. "I see the Maker continues to guide your steps. This is the boy, then?"

Involuntarily, Anders shuddered just a little when the man-statue looked at him. That had to be an excellent party trick.

"Yes, Knight-Commander.

"You may go; rest for a while. Your postings are being covered for tonight and tomorrow. Report to the armory for replacements as well." The templars bowed and exited so hastily, one didn't know if they were proud or ashamed of their achievement of having survived the lake. Of course, that left Anders alone with the razor-eyed jailer. The boy actually wondered how much self-flaggelation it took to achieve such a look of stone cold peace and yet terror. "I assume you understand well enough where you are and why you've been brought here."

Anders couldn't help it; sarcasm was his language in moments such as these. You had to laugh to keep yourself from crying, after all. "It certainly isn't a good vacation spot."

The Knight-Commander missed or ignored any bait in the statement; perhaps he was simply trained to take no notice. Or maybe if his facial muscles moved an inch, he would truly look as if he were passing a kidney stone.

"As you're alone today, we cannot spare one of the senior mages to show you around." Well, if he wasn't wanted, he could always leave. Anders was just about to suggest it, but the rhythmic tapping of quick footsteps preceded that remark. The Knight-Commander's eyes moved to the runner, not betraying any hint of emotion; not even the mild, barely noticeable annoyance in his tone. "Here is your guide; on time, for once."

Said guide turned out to be a girl. Or rather, a short, pallid slip of a girl in a blue dress that was just a little too long for her, looking about as excited about this assignment as he usually did about garbage duty. She squinted at him rather like a tax collector looking for a reason to demand more money from a poor old lady, but resisted wrinkling her nose. Instead, her ears flared out just enough to be noticeable as she blinked.

Then, ignoring him entirely, the elf turned to the Knight-Commander and announced her assessment.

"He can't be an apprentice, he's way too old."

"Hey!" He didn't really stop to consider if this might get him out of here – disqualified as a mage due to being older than the other apprentices. "If I knew mages were scrawny marsh toads, I would have brought some food with me."

To her credit, the elf didn't bristle, choosing to sneer instead. "Well, you already have the marsh toad look down, so lose some weight and you'll fit right in."

"Manners, apprentices." Andraste's frilly garters, the man just _had_ to butt in when he was about to give a good rebuttal. Now he had forgotten it and had to come up with a new one. In the meantime, he could stick to enjoying the way the elf girl tried to avoid looking anywhere near the old man's face and instead glowered at the Sword of Mercy on his cuirass. "You have enough to content with without botching your own punishment. Ability means nothing without discipline."

The apprentice looked like her jaw was about to snap off from the pressure of her teeth, but she managed not to set anything on fire. She actually bobbed her head almost imperceptibly.

"I shall give your advice all its due consideration, Knight-Commander."

It was entirely clear that the Knight-Commander had, at one time, looked up the definition of sarcasm in a book or asked someone more knowledgeable about it. However, it seemed that taking the time to dignify such lashes with a parry worthy of the effort would interfere with their brooding time.

However, judging by the slight wavering to the elf's brashness, the templar had aced the Stony Stares class with expertise.

"Just show the boy around and try not to make too much of a spectacle out of yourself."

He must have been a mean competitor in the Stalking Away With Frosty Dignity too.

Only once he was around the corner and gone did the elf girl's shoulders slump down, as if the fist around her throat had been released. Math wasn't his favorite thing in the world, but it was easy to do here. Especially since the way she surveyed him afterwards was just as impetuous as before.

"Why are you wet?"

Apparently, she hadn't heard of the wonderful invention commonly known as a window. Or perhaps her sight was as narrow as her repertoire of expressions.

"Because I just couldn't resist the lovely mud-filled lake?"

The elf rolled her eyes, but they sadly remained in her skull. In their place, he would have taken the opportunity to merrily roll away.

"Oh, a clown." She said that like it was a bad thing! With all these templars around, it couldn't be! "Just what we needed."

"With all the skirt-wearing bucket-heads prancing around?" That was his point exactly – not that the elf seemed to appreciate it. "I doubt it."

The elf sighed to herself, making it sound rather like a grumble. She looked like she was choosing between removing her spleen with a blunt spoon and donating her kidneys to a charity intent on saving the lake´s wildlife. "Well, I won't have you messing up the tower on my head."

Before he could question this nonsensical imperiousness of hers or point out something sufficiently biting, she started waving her hands around. At first, he momentarily thought that there was actual steam coming out of his ears due to being robbed of his (second) chance at sniping at someone. It took a few seconds to make it obvious that the steam was coming from his clothes as well, with gentle warmth he wasn't at all used to. There was no contraption in all of Ferelden that could have drawn all the cold moistness from his damp clothes, certainly not so quickly.

Momentarily, he was bewildered and stared at the elf as if she had just turned into a three-headed darkspawn with a pirate eyepatch, wooden leg and parrot, and the parrot was asking him to dance the remigold with them. While juggling gerbils.

"H-how d'you do that?" The stammer wasn't the most dignified sound he'd ever made, but it sufficed to demonstrate his sentiment.

A crescent up, a crescent down, clockwise went the elf's eyes, as murky and cool as the lake's water. "Magic, clown-face." She said it as if that were the most obvious thing in the world. Then again, maybe it was, to her. "That's why you're here. Well, come on, hurry up."

He decided not to point out that it was her punishment (apparently), so she did have all day and should be nice. Come to think of it, maybe the bucket-heads would be interested in hearing how badly his tour guide had behaved towards the poor new kid… but then he remembered that he still had very little idea as to how one should defend oneself from magic. He rather liked his hair the way it was, no _alterations_ needed.

The elf was already up the first set of stairs, not looking back, so he decided to hurry up a little. Just this once. It wasn't that the tower was big and dark and _already suffocating him_, despite the tall majestic windows and the broad corridors and the shelves upon shelves of valuables so carelessly thrown around that it seemed the mages were actually inviting pickpockets and thieves.

His guide was already chattering on about the various things and places, but he only paid attention when something interesting caught his eye. In the library, that meant the various mages attempting the spells they were looking up in the various books. He had heard that libraries were supposed to be quiet, but there was just no stopping the buzzing all around them, like a beehive.

There was a statue of Andraste nearby, with a young-ish priestess questioning a couple of children about the Chantry's words on magic. The woman spotted them and gave a kind smile, which disrupted the otherwise familiar image of the preaching robed figure in his mind; in Denerim, urchins weren't welcome guests anywhere. But the elf girl kept her gaze fixed in front of her, as frosty and clench-jawed as she had been before the head templar.

Religious hostility from an elf! Who'd ever have guessed?

When it came down to it, there actually were quite a few elves around, mingling easily with the humans. And there was no uproar about it, no one staring or whispering. It was… normal here, it seemed.

Well, if they were willing to take in street rats like him, they probably really were a few coppers short of a sovereign.

He spent about three seconds too long staring at a shiny sextant on display and knocked straight into his guide, who had apparently stopped for a moment. It would no doubt be frog-time quite soon, since the templars were almost conveniently positioned in a way that had them looking away.

But no, she was talking to some old guy in a dress. What was it with the skirts, anyway? Did the bright colors help cast magic? Did magic cause you to lose control over your urinary tract, making taking off your belt too slow for nature's call? Because it certainly wasn't good for running or making a non-quirky fashion statement.

"-making yourself useful to Senior Enchanter Pirjo, I see."

"It was asked of me." Feet shuffled and the elf sounded a bit bashful.

Oh, look, they were still talking and he wasn't a toad yet. Come to think of it, he hadn't yet seen anyone else wearing green around the tower. Lots of blue and yellow, a bit of red here and there, but no green. Purple and magenta was apparently reserved for the templars.

Come to think of it, why did _they_ need the skirts?

"No need to be so tense, young man, lest you wish to unnerve the templars with your frustration."

It took a well-placed elbow to actually alert Anders to the fact he was being spoken to. Smart-mouthed bastard, wasn't he? "How d'you guess?" he blurted out, eying the indulgent smile he was receiving with suspicion.

"Manners!" the elf hissed, apparently horrified that someone would dare such a thing. This time, though, the elbow was predictable.

"None, thank you."

Greybeard Greendress chuckled in a manner that was annoying in one's own grandparents and downright infuriating in strangers. "I see you're rather well-matched already." The elf opened her mouth, but caught whatever response she had formulated, contenting herself with a rather pathetic impersonation of a half-dead fish. "Don't forget the essentials, please."

"Of course, First Enchanter." the elf bowed her head in the obvious hope that she would sink into the floor and never resurface. Were it not for the First Enchanter's annoying non-offensive smugness, Anders was certain he would have been laughing on the floor somewhere. "Have a good day."

She practically ran off from the spot, almost losing even him in the crowd of mages. Anders was actually huffing a little after chasing after her up two flights of stairs, which she had climbed with practiced dexterity. He had caught up only because she was finally slowing down.

Curse whichever blighter had decided that the mages be housed in a tower!

"Essentials?" he asked once they passed the next statue-like templar patrol without as much as a word. In the city, the templars didn't always wear those funny helmets. Here, though, they apparently thought that even looking at the mages with unshielded eyes would taint them somehow. All except the Knight-Commander, who had a permanent helmet of a different kind.

"Where the kitchens and toilets are." The elf girl sounded a bit absent-minded now, still analyzing what had happened and trying not to. It was obvious – she actually looked at him almost kindly, which was weird enough. "You'd be surprised by the things people do when they believe chocolate is on the line…"

"And what happens when they discover it isn't chocolate, I imagine." Due to the color and substance, it was relatively easy to replace it with other… stuff. The smell was a problem, at times, but considering this was usually near the heavily-scented Orlesian stalls at the market, even that could be overcome if one was crafty enough.

Incredulously, the elf blinked, her thoughts practically playing out on her face like a series of pictures.

"I don't think that… you're not going to make too many friends here if you mess with the limited chocolate supply."

"Right." Limited supply was better than no supply, which was what he was used to. Besides, he wasn't in the tower to make friends; he was there to learn enough magic to be able to control it or at least hide it well. Then, he was out of here. In the meantime, though, there had to be some entertainment around. "So what do you do here when you're not being mages?"

The elf blinked, but didn't berate him for asking stupid questions. "We're always being mages."

"I mean when you're not waving sparks off your fingers or turning stuff into frogs." he amended, having the grace not to roll his eyes himself. After all, the fish-faced look on the elf's face was not worth spoiling,

"Studying, you mean."

Up and down and all around went the brown eyes before settling on the elf's face once again. "Yeah, that." If it made her feel better to think of it in rationalizing terms, why not? "What do you people do for fun here? Games? Sports?" Anders almost didn't dare ask, but then again, you never knew. "Parties?"

At the mention of the last one, the smile that had been threatening to spread over her face finally cracked into the open; the elf actually laughed, if curtly. "Spoiled rich boy, are you?"

"Shrill voiced gutter-snipe, are you?" he shot back, wiping the smugness from her expression. "Answer the question."

The elf bristled, but turned around and kept walking up the stairs. "I don't know what would entertain a shem used to wallowing in the mud all day… but here, we actually work." Low blows against which he couldn't defend himself without sounding wrong or petty were _so _not fair. "I know that must be a novelty to you."

Changing the point of view of the topic it was, then.

"Do you even know what the concept of _fun_ is?" With that chip on her shoulder and the way someone had stuck a magic wand somewhere uncomfortable, Anders severely doubted it. Not that the elf would even acknowledge the rhetorical question.

Surprisingly, she turned just over her shoulder and gave him a brief look that was hard and yet somehow empty, something he had seen in trapped animals that were nearly ready to accept their cage.

"Yes. One of the things _they_ are against." She didn't look at the templars they were passing, but the _tension_ wasn't something that could be faked. Maybe that was an upsurge of magic she was suppressing, even. "You'd better get used to our friendly neighborhood templars soon, though."

"Like the city watch, only they've really got you trapped, huh? Wonderful." A prison full of shiny things. The perfect trap for most people he knew, but certainly not a place where he hoped to spend the rest of his life. The bucket-heads did, though. "Are they allowed to move?" he asked his guide, a bit more quietly this time.

"Not unless something happens, I guess." the elf shrugged after a moment's consideration. "I've not yet gotten into that much trouble."

"Do they always wear those buckets?"

Again, just for a moment, the elf chortled, but tried to maintain a neutral expression. She failed rather miserably. "Not all of them… why?"

"Well, it's just that it isn't any fun to make faces at them if you can't see their reactions, you know?"

The elf said nothing, simply continued walking up and down flights of stairs, showing him corridors he'd soon have to rediscover himself after forgetting them, rooms filled with various things that made noises and shone but didn't _explode_ and many, many people in skirts.

Eventually, they were back at the bottom of the tower, near where Anders supposed the entrance was. At least, he remembered the giant double doors off in the distance. But the elf made a beeline for one of the smaller doorways to the side. On the other side was a room even taller and more enormous than those they had passed through. Actually, it was nearly as big as one of the library wings and twice as tightly-organized. Everywhere, there were rows of beds and neatly prepared footlockers, but also people – humans and elves both – dressed in matching cornflower blue robes, chattering around, reading or resting.

"Wow, this is big." Anders couldn't help but mutter to himself as he followed the elf through the small crowds.

No one was staring. No one noticed. Well, maybe they did – the fact that he wasn't yet dressed as one of them. But otherwise, it seemed no one here cared whence you came.

The elf had stopped next to one of the beds and gestured towards it and all around while looking for some hidden indication or number on the bunk. "This is where you'll live from now on."

"Great, but what are these people doing in my room?"

Someone nearby might have laughed, but the elf didn't, still searching for the numeral.

"It's their room as well. These are the Apprentice Quarters. And here… yes, here's your bed." She straightened up once again, grinning a bit, as if she had performed some feat of skill. "You'll find everything you need inside."

Now that was a rather broad definition of what the footlocker might contain, so Anders decided not to waste too much time and opened it, rummaging through it with skill. No potions, no boomstick, no lockpick supply (though he hadn't really hoped for that one). Instead…

"Hey, I think this is the wrong bed." What he got was a supply of plain but clean smallclothes, socks that actually matched and several copies of the same, familiar outfit… "This is girls' clothing."

The elf looked torn between laughing and rolling her eyes for a second time. Apparently, she didn't usually have to give this lecture to people. "No, those are robes. you'll wear them from now on. Like a uniform."

Three kinds of people had uniforms, in his experience: priests, templars and prisoners.

"What? No! I won't wear a skirt! Not on your life." He might have the legs to pull it off, but he certainly wasn't about to advertize that fact. One time of sneaking away from a house in girl's clothes and passing quite well for a little daughter of a well-to-do noble had been embarrassing enough.

"I know you must be quite attached to your dirt, but here, we have enough problems without a plague." the elf sniped at him with a childish gleefulness of one who wasn't able to vent her frustrations nearly often enough. "Now change."

_That_ certainly topped the idea of dressing up in a skirt.

"Are you crazy? In front of you?" And the several dozens of people in the general vicinity, but most importantly, straight in front of _her_… "You're a girl!" he said, as if she didn't yet know that herself. "Barely a girl, but still!"

"Very funny." When narrowed, the elf's eyes looked as cold as the muddy water of the lake. "In case you've missed it, there is no such thing as privacy here."

"You don't say." Paper boats and little flyers, enchanted to soar through the air, narrowly avoided their heads and hurried back to a pack of laughing apprentices, one or two of which shouted warnings and apologies in turn.

Anders did notice that no one hurried to greet or speak to his guide, though. She put a nice show of pretending not to care, too.

"The baths are that way." she pointed out instead, gesticulating quite clearly. She could very well have been head of a storage house. "Toilets too. There's a signal for when the meals are had, so just follow the crowd."

What, no alarms for when it was time for nature to call? That was so disappointing. "Is this a school or a prison?"

Twitch went the elf's lips, but it was a sad sight. "A little bit of both."

"Huh, neat." His two absolutely favorite things in the world combined. Suddenly, it wasn't worth all the shiny things around. Besides, templar armor was shiny and it wasn't as if he was about to steal any of that. "So, how long does it take to become a full mage? Because this place sounds too dull for my tastes."

The elf wasn't listening; or, if she was, she didn't pay any attention to such nonsense. Instead, she dug through the pockets of her robes and produced a neatly-folded piece of paper, handing it to him. "Here's your timetable, so it isn't on my head if you don't come to classes on time tomorrow."

The only fortune he had in this moment was that in a time long ago, his mother had taught him his letters and, once again, the various orphanages had tried to get some of them to practice reading the Chantry's words. Still, he was a bit rusty in this, slower than he'd like. But being spared the indignity of asking the elf to read aloud for him was worth almost anything.

The bigger words took some time, but he understood the gist of it – and the elf probably thought he was frowning because he didn't understand the terms mentioned on the paper. Which he didn't, for some of them.

"Basic Alchemy, Theory of Thaumaturgy, History of Magic… where's the Blowing Stuff Up class?" And some kind of Invisibility for Beginners, that would be exceedingly helpful. "That might come in useful."

The elf didn't even crack a smile when studies were concerned, coming back to her stiff-lipped self. "Primal magic isn't taught until you've learned to master the basics." she announced, as if she were the high mistress of magic or something.

"You're a real teacher's pet, aren't you?" That assumption hit home, apparently, because she looked ready to tear the robes she was holding out for him apart. For the moment, she settled for jamming them over his head in a manner that suggested she'd prefer to strangle him with their sleeves. "I've got eyes, especially how ramrod straight you stood in front of that old guy."

"I'll thank you not to speak of First Enchanter Irving that way." the elf huffed, still fussing around to make sure the robes fit, rather like a persistent mother. In fact, she seemed to have completely forgotten that he was still wearing the recently dried clothes underneath.

"Ooh, someone's got a crush." And a good strangle-hold, apparently, but he couldn't exactly coo that at her. For one, it would encourage her, and on the other hand, he had very little air to stop his face from turning purple, let alone to speak.

"Ooh, someone is a childish git." The elf was finally satisfied with her handiwork a few moments later. She didn't bother trying to smooth out the frumpy robes – actually, she seemed to be trying to touch him as little as possible – because, in comparison to her own almost immaculate attire, everything looked frumpy.

"The truth cannot be denied." Anders grinned broadly, but the elf girl wasn't moved at all. It went to show that this expression only worked on rich fools. But not on prissy elf marsh toads. That was kind of a long moniker, though. "So, do I just call you bookworm? If there ever was the physical embodiment of one, I imagine it would look just like you; the spitting image."

This was obviously the one question she hadn't been expecting and thus blinked once, twice and again before answering in an almost guarded manner. "Surana."

Now that wasn't easy to twist into something more entertaining. Mind you, Anders was nothing if unwilling to make a decent effort. "Smarmypants? Oh, sorry, _skirt_."

Aside from some gritting teeth and death glares, no clobbering him to death yet. Well, there was a game worth playing, probably. She wasn't too red-faced yet, but there was a trace of pink blotches on her face. "No, Surana." She pronounced the name carefully, so that even a slow-witted donkey would have been able to repeat it. "My name is Surana."

"What kind of name is that?" Given that Anders knew relatively few elves, this wasn't a surprising question. But the few he knew tended to have rather distinctive names.

"A surname." The girl gave the curt reply with the air of someone who had given it many times before.

"I gathered that." Usually, it was the reverse – people gave their given names freely, but took care with their surnames, so that they couldn't be identified so easily. Or maybe… Anders tilted his head, studying the elf while she refolded the timetable and stored it safely in the footlocker, so that it wouldn't get lost. "What, is your name ugly?"

She finished, stopped for a moment and glanced at him accusingly. "I like my name."

"It is!" Anders grinned, feeling like a hawk ready to descend. Indirect questions via taunting and teasing were his favorite. "With a first name like Ugly, I wouldn't want people to call me that either."

"It's better than Stupid, at least."

"Hey, manners!" he shot back in a decent imitation of her previous exclamation. Only much, _much_ more squeaky at that. "Besides, I have a nice name."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah."

"Good for you." The elf didn't look particularly impressed and made a move to evade him and slip away. Anders briefly wondered if she lived in the same dormitory section, since it seemed the apprentices all shared the same rooms. "I hope you settle in all right."

Somehow, she made it sound Not Nice At All. Which wasn't fair.

"Hey! Aren't you even going to ask?"

Wearily, she turned back, channeling her most annoyed expression. Oh, she was good at this. "Do I have to?"

"You're dreadfully impolite, you know." But Anders knew how to play this game. Dutiful little lickspittle, was she? There were tricks for people like that, just so. "Not making me feel welcome at all, so far away from home and everything I knew…"

The elf's left eye twitched just a little, but the Duty and Possible Punishment for Lack of It card won in the end. "What's your name?" she asked, rather quietly.

Folding his arms pensively, Anders decided to milk the advantage until it had gone. Which meant at least for a few more moments. "I suddenly don't feel very much like telling you." he drawled, plopping down on the bed in a show of being hurt by her lack of interest.

The bed was soft, so much that he almost sank into it. Actual feathers. Maybe this wouldn't be such a terrible stay after all. A luxurious prison was the least they could dish out for him, if he had to stay here for a while.

The elf sighed to herself, looking about ready to throw her arms up in the air and give up. "Fine. I don't care."

"It's Anders, by the way." he called out just as her back was to him.

Again, the elf stopped, turned just a little and looked as though she might give a smug grin, but didn't. She was a bit hurt over the _Ugly_ thing, but did her best not to show it. "That's too bad. Stupid matches you so wonderfully."

She was really bad at this friends-through-uncomfortable-circumstances thing. That was refreshing.

"So what's yours?" Anders asked, actually curious for the moment. Embarrassing nicknames were far more effective when they were personalized.

"Maybe I just don't have one."

"I told you mine."

"I didn't ask you to."

This was getting repetitive and mildly annoying. "You're so infuriating, you know that?"

"I've been told." the elf conceded without a fault.

"Well, I just thought you should know."

The elf glanced up at a contraption that was like the great clock of the Chantry tower, but filled with various spheres and glyphs that made it look nothing like it. Obviously, it had to show the time – or it just confirmed that All Mages Were Loonies, if that wasn't obvious already.

"Dinner should be in about an hour. That way to the baths, if you've forgotten already."

Just enough time for one more attempt. "Marsh Toad it is, then, since you always find your way to the water!" Anders proclaimed with a grin, waiting for the reward for his efforts.

Unfortunately, over the course of the past few hours, the elf had become partly immune to these snipes; her face was flushed, but she kept her silence as she walked away. "Let's see if you can do the same, Piglet."

Later on, he found out several things about his temporary guide, not that he _tried to_, per se.

One, her name was indeed Surana – no one knew her first name, because she refused to tell them. Apparently, she had this weird idea that her name was the only thing that was hers alone now and so didn't intend to share it with anyone. As the months passed, he learned to see the point of that sentiment, though he kept making it another reason why she was as kooky as others seemed to believe.

Two, she was a loner both by choice and by circumstance; if she made an effort to be easier to approach, she might have more than the single friend she spoke to. If she was less of a _lecturer's pet_ (or creepy bookworm loner – all of which translated into _prodigy_), the others might have made a larger effort to try and befriend her.

Three, once someone got her out of her prissy mask of high and mightiness, she had amusing reactions to pranks and teasing, mostly leading to entertainment in an otherwise horribly dull tower.

That much he had suspected since the very first day, considering the fact that four, she had sent him to the _girl's_ bathroom.


	2. Two

The story continues, simply because I feel rather inspired. Of course, that doesn't happen every day and my next update will be Ever After (that chapter is nearly ready). Still uncertain whether the mage PC is Nimue or not in this story, but it isn't important plot-wise yet.

Time skip approximately two years in-between chapters; activate the Time Machine!

By the way, there was supposed to be a second scene to this chapter, but it got so long and drawn out that it had to be moved to the next one. Which means that I might actually finish this fic. Hooray!

**o.O.o**

**Two**

**o.O.o**

Anders liked to tell people that he decided to take up healing magic due to his own practical mind and immense wisdom. The truth was much simpler than that, actually. It only required a bit more backtracking.

He chose healing magic the day the apprentices of his class were invited (read: dragged off) to watch their first demonstration of a proper duel.

The only reason for this practice was the intention to instill even more fear of magic into the apprentices by showing them its most destructive effects. The combat itself was taking place in a magically warded arena, so that the effects of the spells wouldn't spread beyond it. It was all heavily templar-supervised and the bucket-heads proceeded to drain nearly all of them of magic during the "clean-up" of the effects.

It was the most amazingly horrifying display of magic he had seen up till then. It also succeeded very well in making him sick due to its aftereffects – the blood, the visible injuries and cries of agony. And that still seemed nothing like a real battle would be.

Several of the weaker-willed apprentices had to leave mid-"performance". As for him, he managed to last throughout the whole thing; after all, he was a boy, and boys didn't cry or feel sick at the sight of a little blood.

They got pale-faced and felt their lunch announcing its intent to return to the world after the whole thing and sprinted expertly to the correct toilets without anyone noticing.

But afterwards, he got back into the room and intently watched the healers do their work. Anders hated injuries; they detracted from efficiency, slowed one down and, Maker sod it all, they _hurt_. Having the ability to reverse them with a mere thought wasn't simply useful, though; it was fascinating.

And so, once the entire lecture was over, it could hardly be something other than the Maker's will that he managed to stumble on a wounded rat in the corner of one of his favorite shortcuts.

Anders normally wasn't much of a compassionate person. Suffering wasn't of consequence unless it involved him, personally. He didn't like vermin either; in his experience, the little beasties only served to steal his food at the worst possible time. But the thing had big, watery eyes and its nose was twitching and it looked too small to be a rat; rather, perhaps it was a mouse, fuzzy and adorable and…

And he had the power to help it. Or he thought he did; anyone could attest to the fact that he was a good mage. Maker sod it, he was a _damned_ good mage, pun intended, of course. If he wanted to help the poor unfortunate thing, he could and would do so.

Carefully, he laid out the small creature on a more comfortable part of the stonework – if there was one – and tried to examine its injuries. There was a thick wound on its torso, as if it had escaped a mousetrap, but the consequences yet lingered. But had it ingested poison? It wasn't dead, but the twitching wasn't something he liked to see; that usually meant trouble.

And trouble, all mages learned, was to be solved with magic. So the first thing he tried to do was inject a dose of pure mana into the creature to revive it. When that didn't work, Anders channeled a small part of his magic and tried to will the opened wound into closing.

It appeared to be working nicely, too, until two shoes sticking out from under a set of blue robes stopped in his field of vision. Even the footsteps had sounded indignant, but the face of their owner was more puzzled than annoyed.

"What are you doing on the floor?"

Well, if it wasn't his favorite Malcontent Midget of all time, keeping her eyes closed (clearly) and her mouth open (unfortunately), as always.

"Searching for your politeness and funny bones, I think you broke them somewhere around here and left them lying around."

The elf ignored it once she spotted that this was this was apparently a three-way conversation with one unconscious and furry extra participant.

"You're healing a rat." Surana said slowly, looking at the misfortunate rodent with what could most politely be termed ill-concealed queasiness. Obviously, she hoped to put as much distance between herself and the rat while trying to make her offended expression evident to Anders.

Not that he had the time to look and examine, since the rat was more likely to expire far more quickly than the vaguely green scowling trained monkey with an indigestion problem.

"Yes." In the universal sign language of the world, his pointed ignorance of the elf's presence signified the simple message of Go Away.

Surana ignored it, as she did to most things common sense, and continued observing the scene, greener whenever she glanced more pointedly at his patient.

"A half-dead, smelly and probably plague-carrying rat." she expanded her description of the scene quite aptly, but didn't seem to know enough to get away before she started singing a wholly different tune. With the lyrics of expressive empty sounds.

Not necessarily something Anders wanted to witness first-hand.

"You know, I understand that you have certain issues carried over from your life before the tower, but it really isn't nice to boost your own weak self-esteem by making someone else feel lesser."

Just because the rat was lower on the evolutionary ladder than the two of them (not that all would agree on that) didn't mean it didn't have feelings!

"Did you come up with that speech all by yourself? Your insight into the intricacies of my life is remarkable." Obviously, it was, because the cross-eyed monkey expression soured quicker than the so-called milk less experienced shoppers in Denerim eagerly bought due to its meager price. Red mixed with the green, turning into a wholly unpleasant ashen sheen.

"The soul of wit, as usual." With anyone else, the lack of a response would have indicated imperviousness to sarcasm. But Anders knew the elf well enough to see that something was off if she was simply rooted to the spot, staring at the scene and not spitting just a bit of witty venom. Annoyed, he finally glanced at the frozen girl, with a heavily put-upon sigh to boot. "You could help instead of being all-round useless, you know."

Something was definitely wrong when Surana shook her head firmly, her heavy braid almost whipping around to strike her. If there was one tolerable feature about the elf's appearance, it was the long, thick and heavy hair, always drawn back into a rope-like braid. Anders himself was quite familiar with the occasional itching of her classmates' hands to strangle her with it, as they shared some classes. The elf's status as the universal know-it-all was nearly legendary – you could tell simply by the satisfied smirks of the others on the rare occasions when she actually didn't have the correct answer.

But he had certainly never seen her back down from an attempt to show-off.

"No. I-I won't."

Anders frowned at the elf, then glanced at the rat. She definitely wasn't Dalish (Surana, not the rat; though that would certainly have been an amusing thought), so she had to be from an alienage or some such settlement. He'd been through alienages once or twice and it hadn't been a pleasant experience. It had made him feel a bit better about his own poverty, to see people that were even lower on the social ladder than he himself was. Not that he was racist that way, but he was a kid and sometimes needed a confidence boost to keep going.

Point being, she had to be used to rats and the like. Maybe had a pet rat once and couldn't bear see another one dying? He could just about imagine Surana being the kind of person who'd neglect pets and any living beings for books.

But she did look rather intent on keeping her defiant expression fixed on him and didn't come any closer… but no, she _couldn't be_… could she?

"You're not _scared_, are you?" Anders drawled challengingly, carefully picking up the rat. He wasn't immediately shot down with an angry retort, though that might have something to do with waving an unconscious rodent in front of the increasingly green-tinted girl's face. "Scared of the itty-bitty ratsie?"

Surana could handle anything from a mean streak a mile wide to mutterings, but baby talk was what managed to bring her over the edge. Rather differently, though, than what was amusing. "I'm not scared of it, I just can't help it!"

"Can't help being scared?" It was worth one tiny twist further, after all.

And it worked too – Surana took a step back, white beating back the remnants of color on her face with a sledgehammer. "No, you _idiot_, I… why do I even bother?"

Now that was the thousand sovereign question.

Or, more likely, that was his out – the perfect moment to get rid of her permanently with just one more biting remark. Or silence; either worked well, as the elf looked ready to stalk away muttering to herself. But it was just too much _fun_ provoking someone who could very easily strike back but never would, because there were rules and expectations and ways around them.

"Because I'm way too adorable to refuse?"

Surana scoffed, an undignified sound that she'd never have made within twenty feet of any teacher. Whenever she managed to get her staff out of the most uncomfortable place where it was substituting her spine, she could beat people to death with it most impressively.

"Does this pass as sucking up in human cities? No wonder they don't want anyone from alienages there. You'd get swindled blind."

Anders knew better to ask whether she meant him or humans in general, or what that had to do with anything. He couldn't get a good grip, so to speak, on the injury, and appeared to be wasting magic with this kind of probing. And he actually wanted to save the little blighter, to learn something from this whole mess, at least. Grudgingly, some part of him was able to admit to itself that he could have done much worse than have the tower's star pupil stumble into him to make biting remarks.

"Anyway, gimme a hand here." He was Most Definitely Not Whining. Although his commanding tone certainly needed a little bit of work, if even an elf a good head-and-a-half shorter than him didn't seem to be taking him too seriously. One way to change that, then. "You're supposed to be good at magic."

That would have usually caused the girl to bristle and prove her worth with a flick of her wrist, but Surana shook her head. In fact, she was acting rather oddly, considering this Maker-given chance to show off, as usual.

"I told you, I can't do it." During the few moments of silence, she looked like she had swallowed a templar's boot whole, mud and all, but couldn't afford to spit it out lest she offend the friendly neighborhood maleficar who forgot to remove the armor from her home-baked templar cookies. So she forced it down her throat with only diplomatic squirming. And then, it finally spilled out. "I can't heal."

For a second or two, Anders wasn't entirely certain if that choked sound that had come from her qualified as words, but, being an excellent judge of expressions and character, determined that this wasn't a jest. No; this was an actual admission.

Which begged an actual question.

"What d'you mean, "can't heal"? Anyone can do the basics and it's not like I'm lobotomizing the rat or anything."

Not that he knew what that involved, exactly; he had come across the term in one of his books and understood the basics, but there were limits even to his awesomeness. Somehow, common sense reminded him that he couldn't yet replace a removed brain with nothing but his hands as tools.

Surana was studying the nearest wall with the kind of queasiness that was usually reserved for the five minutes before lunch in the dining hall, when the apprentices wondered if their food was still going to wiggle when they received it. There had been one memorable incident involving a small sloth demon and a roasted pig, but it wasn't the kind of thing one mentioned in polite company any longer.

"I tried a few times." The elf glanced at the rat with vague pity and only mild greenishness now. Her expression was almost vaguely haunted and Anders wondered exactly what had her backing off without even a pretense of a good fight. "I… it never ended well for the patient."

"You're serious?" No self-explanatory glares, even, just a brief nod. Andraste's fluffy pink bunny slippers, this was a moment for the ages! "The great Surana is admitting not being good at something to do with magic?"

_That_ did the trick. Surana wasn't physically intimidating in the least; slight, scrawny and as childlike as the day he had met her. On the other hand, when her ears flared out just enough and her brow squinted into a glaring frown, she certainly had to look intimidating enough like one of those darkspawn they were reading about in history class this month. She certainly was at least as ugly as the illustrations – and her ears were exactly as pointy.

"I don't seem to remember saying at any time that I was great, so this might actually be the invention of your own puny intellect." But she could _talk_, which was the actual sting of the whole fright. And it didn't help that her words usually weren't empty.

Since this was kind of a ritual between the two of them now, Anders offered one of his less irritating grins in return. "Oh, sure, I'm great at backhand compliments. Want me to try some more?"

The rat seemed to be breathing normally, but the blood refused to clog properly. Something was irritating the healing, perhaps?

Surana's snort was only vague, half-hearted. Possibly because the rat was now safely out of the way and if Anders intended to throw it at her, she had more than enough time to bounce it right back at him with a slight surge of magic. "I'm not sure my ego can stand to grow so much over a little while."

"Well, maybe you wouldn't look so scrawny if your head grew a little."

"I'm going."

"No, wait, come on!" Anders didn't even know why he bothered. Wait, he did; he was sort of curious how bad she could be at healing. Petty dislike aside, he could admit that Surana wasn't bad at magic. If she was this embarrassed about it, this had to be big. And thus amusing and potential blackmail material. Maker knew he hated doing all that boring history homework and a little… _help_ wouldn't be entirely against his tastes. "Try it. It's a rat, for Maker's sake, not a portal into the Fade. I don't really know what I'm doing either."

He hadn't meant to admit as much; perhaps his own surprise betrayed him. Surana caught on quickly, thin eyebrows rising half an inch closer to her hairline.

"I'm shocked."

"Hey, at least I'm not being _chicken_ about it."

When questions of morality were being discussed, Anders politely sat them out while idly wondering how much the discussion would benefit from a few fireballs. When the question who played fair all their lives rose, he could easily raise his hand – to give the obnoxious questioner a sound whack on the head. There was no such thing as fair play. Only victory.

"I'm not afraid!" And if his opponent was to be a huffing, unquestionably stubborn elf with cheeks swollen in ten different shades of red, playing dirty was obviously the way to go.

"You sure sound afraid." Anders grinned wickedly. If there was anything that could rile up someone who pretended to be much older and mature than her actual form, it had to be childishness. "Scardy-cat."

Yes, indeed, he was _smart_ and knew how to play others like a finely tuned instrument. Or her, at least, because Surana reacted in a manner quite predictable and rather more like herself than the odd wishy-washiness.

The books she had been carrying were put on the ground with care and out of reach, but afterwards, the elf started up like an angry wasp that had been clumsily swatted away.

She seemed to almost bludgeon her way through the empty corridor and most definitely didn't have to elbow him on her way to access the patient.

"Out of my way, twinkle-toes."

That was positively the kindest she had ever called him in the two years of their acquaintance.

Anders wasn't amused, especially when the magic flared up near her open palms as easily as if someone had flicked a switch. There wasn't any trace of gentleness or care in the swirl of purple, only a trained precision that seemed to hang on a thread.

He normally wasn't one to nag without reason… well, that wasn't entirely true. But not too much. He was simply quite willing to voice his own opinion, no matter how welcome it was. And, as he very much remembered that the healers had had much more control about their magic outlet. Also, the color was all wrong.

When the color went wonky, you knew you were in trouble. Curiously, Surana seemed intent on pulling this off without checking her work or moving an inch.

"Didn't the healer's magic look a bit more… I don't know… blue?" Anders was careful when suggesting this, because he really didn't trust the way the little swirls near the rat's tail were twinkling at him.

Swirling was bad.

"Shut up; I'm doing exactly the same thing." Surana's fingers looked stiffer than the sausages they had for breakfast every second Monday, which was saying something.

Anders had never seen someone else casting like this up close; certainly not another apprentice. It looked highly too volatile for his liking, like a wind pressing against a flimsy window during a storm.

It wasn't that he was worried for the elf, but the rat did raise some mild level of concern – Ratslayer would be a rather demeaning start to his future list of titles, after all. He also liked his present appearance quite well; there was no further pink or purple or whatever that garish _girly_ color was necessary.

"Careful… steady…"

He tried to do what the lecturers sometimes did; contain magic through steadying influence (of sorts). It wasn't a patronizing notion, for once, but Surana apparently took it at such.

"No, don't help me!" the elf glanced from his motions to her hands, but then tried to steady her own magic.

"You're starting to flicker; that's not right!"

The magic was pulsing now; but perhaps it was numbing the elf's senses, because she continued casting. Anders didn't even know what she was actually trying to do, but it felt more like a scan than any actual healing to him. Words aside, the elf obviously understood little about how she was to go about this, but her magic was flaring up in a decidedly unpleasant way.

This didn't look like healing magic at all. It looked more like…

Well, Anders had never actually seen necromancy in action, but pink and necromancy was obviously a devious combination.

The mist was a dense fog now, milk-thick and bluer when he tried to take her by the wrist. It was acting without thinking of consequences; in light of the situation, Anders didn't stop to think about out-of-control magic when one display of it was almost in front of him.

Surana's eyes expanded to the size of saucers, but the magic didn't stop leaking despite the momentary shock.

"Anders, stop-!" This was the first time she had actually used his name in a non-demeaning context, which was almost remarkable.

In comparison to what happened then…

What happened before she could finish was too colorful to ever truly describe. In the face of such artistic expressiveness, such a blast of movement and such sudden change of the circumstances, only simplicity could suffice.

The rat exploded.

Or, rather, the magic flared out, then part of it evaporated and the rest entered the rodent's form in one final swirl. And then, without a sound or flash of light, the still-twitching rat was a mass of matter that their tower's cook would easily scrape off the walls and turn into their usual stew… or, to be morbid and highly lame in the realm of puns, a topping for ratatouille.

"-that…" the elf trailed off, finally shivering – or rather, shuddering.

If he looked anything like Surana now, that had to mean that his blue robes were now puce, at the very least. There was red everywhere, which would have been annoying, but manageable. The really disgusting thing was that the spell hadn't destroyed the whole of the creature into a pulpy mass. In fact, Anders was rather certain that parts of the rat were still wiggling.

Why did he have to be the one who got the wiggling parts? Oh, right, he still had his earring and wore his hair down to conceal it. The rat tail end now caught in it was most definite proof of that.

"Ew."

"I told you to stop." Surana wiped some redness from her usually ashen forehead. Given how she was shivering and pale under all that grime, it looked almost like most the blood was hers.

Anders hated to admit that he felt like the one who was going to faint in a moment. Of course, being male, he wasn't going to show it. He hoped.

"_Ew."_

"I told you I couldn't do this!" And _naturally_ it was _his_ fault that her she had chosen to perform her Kablooie Insides Out spell on the unfortunate rat.

In fact, if they wanted to get technical, she had murdered the rat! Not just rendered unconscious – this was _murder_! This was… was this blood magic? No, this couldn't be blood magic, because the elf wasn't laughing maniacally or trying to make him do embarrassing dance moves under the fiendish kind of mind-control.

Not that there was any kind of good mind control. He was against that on principle.

But back to the issue at hand.

"You said you didn't know how to heal, not that you made your patients explode into a bloody mess!"

Surana glowered in both anger and badly-concealed embarrassment. With all the blood, that was something. "You made me do this!"

"I was trying to steady your magic!" This was the last time he tried to help anyone, especially a stuck-up midget. Pink magic was always an ominous sign and this was proof.

"You butted in and disrupted my concentration!"

"Well excuse me for trying to stop you from summoning up a battalion of rat zombies instead of doing what you were supposed to!"

The argument would have most undoubtedly continued like this for some time – back and forth like an indecisive game of Hot Potato – but they weren't yet so far gone that they couldn't hear the sound that had to become familiar to all apprentices within the first two weeks of their stay in the tower.

The sound of a senior mage clearing their throat in the vicinity.

The healers had apparently finished all their work and were just cleaning the healing potions away. There was no templar present – fortunately enough – but Anders recognized the two mages at the forefront of the very small group, which meant nothing but trouble. Senior Enchanter Crisiant was one of their stricter tutors and Enchanter Maelwas was one of those who favored neither him nor Surana.

The situation wasn't looking too favorable, especially in this present company. Which meant that there was only one thing to do.

"It's her fault."

"Hey!" Surana edged away from the finger pointing directly at her, but too much movement almost made her slip on a stray puddle of rat.

Were it not blood and guts but some kind of food, the situation would certainly have been amusing. But none of the older mages were smiling; one actually had to turn away from the situation to prevent a reaction more unseemly than dignified discontent.

"I don't care whose idea the little experimentation was, but I can see that you've already had your dose of punishment for it." Crisiant wasn't as amused as her words would suggest, but the others observed the situation with some mild pity.

Mild was the extent to which they went, though, because anything more would have required untrue words or closer approach.

"Wonderful!" Anders was certain his innocent expression would have been more effective without the tail disrupting his style. "So that means you'll let us go, right?"

All elves were minions of evil. Especially those that didn't have the good sense to find him adorable.

"No, it does not." the mage continued, her lips in a tight line. Anyone else attempting to mimic that look would have most certainly broken a few teeth. "You have managed to dirty the tower, and I will not have others taking care of your mess. I expect this hallway to be properly rid of whatever parts of that misfortunate creature are still around, _without magic_."

The punishment hadn't seemed that threatening without that final condition.

"Drat!" Anders muttered to himself, glancing at Surana to see if she could use her teacher's pet status to grovel properly for their mutual sake.

But the elf was silent, checking her robes for more bits of rat. Not that Anders could really blame her.

"Indeed."

How could one speak with so little lip movement? Not that that wasn't a good idea in his case, since he could feel the liquid on his face still.

"Senior Enchanter-" Surana finally tried something, but her top student credits were somewhat lessened by the grime sliding down her robes.

"Not a word, apprentice. Your punishment has been set and you would do well to be grateful that it isn't more severe." The elf promptly shut up and returned to her shamed staring at the less bloody parts of her hands.

Sometimes, it wasn't the best thing to have people expect stuff from you. At least if you couldn't live up to them at all times. For example, Anders himself had by this time carefully cultivated the reputation for the unexpected. So this fit quite nicely into the image he was trying to project – if there was any.

For the elf… well, this was likely going to end up with some fingers wagged at her.

"Now go get yourselves cleaned up." Crisiant continued, pointedly ignoring the queasy-looking mage who was wiping his pallid forehead with the sleeve of his robe. Apparently, not all healers were entirely sane when choosing their profession. "Once you're done here, you'll be given clearance to go wash your things at the lakeshore. I won't have you mucking up the wash as well."

The elf obviously heard only the punishment, but Anders was entirely able to leave the useless stuff out and read between the lines.

Clearance. Lakeshore.

The outside.

If one rat's life was to be sacrificed for such a higher purpose, who was he to question the Maker's motives? Did the intestines contain some kind of hidden meaning?

No wonder the Chantry was against blood magic! It all made sense now!

There was something wiggling near his ear again, which was rather disgusting, but it turned out to be Surana trying to fish out the remnants of the rat from his hair. She managed to pull his ear a bit, but got the offensive bodypart out.

To the elf's credit, she managed to turn away before being sick in the nearest pot plant.


	3. Three

As this chapter was nearly half-written at the time I got to doing the dialogue for the next Ever After chapter, I just decided to go along with my mood and finish this. I doubt the next chapter will come this soon, because I have to come up with a good idea for it first.

No timeskip this time – this is a continuation of the storyline from the previous chapter, where Anders and Surana accidentally blew up a rat. Think of it as a Walking Bomb spell gone horribly, horribly wrong – that was the general idea. Since Anders is a Spirit Healer, I thought of giving Surana the opposite specialization, but that would require death magic, which sort of didn't suit the story's direction. So the magic she talks about is spirit magic, which is sort of the antithesis of physical healing.

Yep, stretching it a bit, but so what?

As this is a continuation of the previous scene, the chapter is a little bit shorter, but I couldn't expand it too much more without making it seem like I'm dragging stuff on. There will be another timeskip in the next one and I'm planning to bring a few more characters into this – starting with everyone's favorite batshit insane templar, Cullen. Jowan will show up too, though I can't say when, and Greagoir and Irving will be making their due reappearances.

**o.O.o**

**Three**

**o.O.o**

It took them hours to get all the rat bits out of the corridor. So long, in fact, that by the time they were done, the tale of their sudden escapade had already spread through the tower.

Neither of them was spared the humiliation of walking to fetch clean things from their rooms while still covered from head to toe in grime. The general response were whispers, especially due to the fact that the two of them made a point of not associating with one another, if they could help it and now, their outfits matched perfectly – the evidence of their cooperated felony.

They refrained from talking to one another throughout the ordeal, because an argument wouldn't have made the cleaning any easier. But afterwards, when they were actually allowed to exit the tower, words couldn't be kept back – at least not for Anders, who still remembered the outside rather well.

It was sundown, almost, and they would soon be ushered back into the confines of their prison, but it was amazing nonetheless. Their silent warden of a templar could have been part of the furniture, for all he cared; they were outside, in the open air. Even being accompanied by Surana couldn't dampen his good mood right now.

"This is amazing!"

"I had no idea you found rat intestines so fascinating."

No, seriously, it couldn't. But it was very strange, the way she seemed more focused on trying to get the grime out of the robes she would certainly never wear again than on the grass, the water and the distant sky.

"You're being stupid again. It really doesn't become you." They were both clean now, but Anders imagined that he'd never be able to look at a rat again. Assuming they wouldn't flock to him after this, of course; the smell was the most difficult part of the cleaning. "I mean the lake! Look just over there; I can see the buildings there from this side!"

"I don't want to see it." Surana scrubbed the fabric harder, her eyes determinedly fixed on the water.

Well, it wasn't as if he hadn't guessed that she was loonier than the usual mage, but this was downright crazy. Next thing she'd say was that her father was a nug and her mother the evil twin of the Empress of Orlais.

Which wasn't that much of a hard thing to imagine, really.

"Why? Don't tell me you actually like the tower so much." Anders didn't like being ignored. Being ignored made him cranky, and when he was cranky, he prodded people. He would have been more biting in his retort if the faint rustle of fabric didn't remind him of the ever-watchful Bucket Brigade that was watching their every step even now. He scoffed, shaking his head. Between their fashion sense and the elf's so-called common sense, he didn't know which was worse. "If I didn't know how good they can swim even with those buckets, I'd try my chances right now."

At least the elf would talk when he shocked her enough; like now, when her head snapped into attention like a squirrel that caught the warning smell of falcon poo somewhere nearby. "Shh! Don't talk like that, or they'll hear."

"You can't be squeamish after having a rat blown up on your face without problems." Anders sat down near her, relishing in the feel of grass under his fingers. The dirt as well; he preferred the faintly moist softness to cold stone.

Cold. That was what the tower was. Blue was cold.

Surana's glare was downright frosty.

"And where would you go even if you got away?" she demanded. The ever-proper Miss Priss had actually thought of these things? Wonders never ceased! "You don't have any money and you're dressed like a mage."

Funnily, _mage_ wouldn't be the first thing he'd guess if he was a commoner who came across a person dressed as the two of them were. Add to this his treasured earring, non-military haircut and boyish handsomeness… well, there were those who could get the wrong idea.

"I don't intend to have a giant ESCAPED MAGE HERE, COME AND ARREST ME sign on my head." Surana looked a little alarmed now, almost as if he had caught her doing something he might have thought of doing. By the elf's standards, that was _something_. "Besides, there are always ways of getting what you need."

Then, suddenly, something akin to a smile – or a release from constipated tension, at least – passed through the elf's eyes, snuffed out the moment she noticed it. "You're actually not as high-nosed as you'd like to be. Huh."

High-nosed? _Him_? He was the soul of modesty when necessary! And, of course, his nose was narrow, not high.

Certainly not knob-like and all squishy like hers.

"Leave the backhanded compliments to the pros, all right?"

But apparently Surana had decided that listening to him would only provoke further arguments, so she chose not to. In fact, she actually diverted the conversation from the dangerous waters and deigned it fit to speak to him in a civil manner.

"I would try to find a Dalish clan. I read that their Keepers have magic of their own. And there's no stigma for using it." she said, her voice ending on a quiet note. The words were almost wistful and sincere. Anders didn't want to know these things about the elf. It was much easier to believe she was simply the stuck-up, self-distancing teacher's pet. It was weird thinking of her as an actual person with feelings.

"And everyone thinks you elves have it worse. Figures you'd still get the benefits."

Then a thought struck him, almost like the time when he had been actually studying (shocking, he knew) and a random apprentice had decided that the best way of cataloguing books was throwing them around randomly until he found which one he was looking for next. Anders had gotten away from that with mild punishment; the apprentice had ended up with his robes electric pink.

"Why don't you want to see the shore, then?"

"Because I know that, in a few hours, I'll be lying in my bed in a door-less tower, unlikely to leave it for many years." Strangely, when the elf wasn't trying to pretend she was mature, her voice got a little coarser and a lot more sincere. "But I don't like seeing what I can't have."

Well, obviously, no one did, but Anders tended to think of it as temporary deprivation, which could be remedied with enough skill and dexterity.

"You're such a downer." Surana didn't even glare at him, which was kind of odd. "Is the tower better than an alienage?"

Why was he asking these things? He didn't _want_ to know these things, not least of all because he already knew the answer. Maker, even Surana looked at him as if a rat in templar uniform had taken residence in his hair to give them a premiere of his latest accordion concert while accompanying a mime playing out Andraste's life-story.

"Is a gilded cage better than penniless freedom?" Surana obviously didn't understand the concept of a rhetorical question. "In this case… in this case, yes."

"I preferred Denerim's slums. They can never get the fish quite right here." The elf was looking at him strangely, even more than a moment ago. Anders wanted nothing more than to wipe that self-righteousness off her face, but now, finally given the opportunity, here was none present. "Do you think there are any fish in the lake?"

The always sardonic twitching of the elf's lips was back, so the time to check the sky for flying pigs hadn't yet arrived. "Wouldn't you be the expert on that?"

"No, they tore me away from Toto the Trout, my one true love, before we could get married." Not that he ever intended to go for anything less than carp or tuna. He had standards, after all. And- hey, wait, she- "You remembered that?"

"Such a spectacular entrance was worthy of remembering." Surana said simply, giving the hem of her robe another good scrub. She actually wasn't half-bad at getting all the blood out, even though her hands looked clammy and pasty from the water's low temperature. "Besides, that was my only punishment until now."

"Obviously, I bring out the best in you. There aren't any rods nearby anyway… and I'm not sure anything we could get out would end up edible." Not that he was certain he really wanted to know what lurked in the deep. For one thing, he had always tried to push away the thoughts of where the contents of all the toilets vanished to. Or maybe there was a special contingent of mages that were schooled in the mystical ways of tower clean up. "So what can you actually do, besides making rats explode?"

"You'll never forget that, will you?"

"I'd very much like to, since I still have to wear these clothes later on." He definitely didn't want to sit anywhere near her in class from now on; not that he did anyway, fortunately. "You won't, ah, try to make my brain explode to hide the evidence, will you?"

For a moment, Surana looked as if he had stumbled across her deepest, darkest stash of secrets and it turned out to be the most saccharine little pony doll ever to see the life of day. But apparently, the more embarrassing part of her secret was now out, so she actually took time to ponder the question and answered truthfully.

"I can mimic some of the things the templars can do to us." Obviously, she was dumbing down the explanation for him, but altered this approach before Anders could point this out with a sufficiently biting witticism. She just had to keep making these inconveniences for him; it was really rather annoying. "No … it's them who are mimicking. Anyway, the point is, it's about what you can't see."

Well, she obviously disliked the templars, that much was clear. But then she just _had_ to go back to dumbing things down when it was finally starting to make sense.

Anders was quite used to this kind of talk, which meant that there was only one thing to do.

"Yes, an explanation more thorough there never was." Surana just didn't have the good sense to acknowledge the deep artistic value of rolling one's eyes at obvious nonsense. "I now understand _absolutely everything_."

Oddly, though, the elf didn't even snipe back as she usually did, nor did she bristle and explain things to him in indignation. Her robe was nearly clean now, but she gave it one or two good scrubs to make certain. In fact, she seemed very much intent on scrubbing all the color from it in an effort to make it pristine.

An overachiever, of course.

She shivered, icy water dripping from her hands and finally managed a nearly accusatory glance.

"It's getting cold out here; are you done yet?"

"I'm waiting for you, slowpoke!" Anders huffed, his pride somewhat wounded. _He_ had finished _ages_ ago!

Honestly, there was a difference between forced ignorance and downright obliviousness. His robe was still a little blotchy with water stains, but it was clean of blood and guts. The cheap soap they had been given managed to easily eclipse the deathly scent of entrails, but Anders entirely certain this was an improvement. One shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, especially considering how far out of their prison this little escapade had gotten them, but…

Well, if he had to choose between smelling like an exploded rat and smelling like lavender flowers…

It just wasn't a choice any man his age should have to make!

Not that Surana would know anything about this dilemma or appreciate it, seeing as she was still something of a girl. And it would have been most odd to have her either laugh at him or, more likely, be deemed frivolous by a creature whose very nature should have been just that.

Elves were weird.

"Aren't girls supposed to be good at this kind of thing?" It was a cheap, childish jab, tailored to provoke a reaction spun of the same silk. Anders went for it with stubbornness entirely proportional to his momentary lack of amusement.

From any other female, this would have no doubt have earned him squeals of indignation and a very easily borne clobbering. The fun thing about Surana was that she could project all this emotion with a single glare if she tried hard enough.

She was trying now. It was working, too.

"I guess I'm not much of a girl, then." And then she shrugged, as if this actually wasn't a big deal at all. Of course, the Death Glare of Doom was hinting somewhat at a different sentiment.

Anders had the good sense to be just the slightest bit intimidated while in the presence of a large body of water. At least while the elf was still in possession of two clammy, wet hands that were squeezing the water out of her robe as if she'd like nothing more than to wring someone's neck. And since the templar watching over them didn't seem to have any kind of neck under all that armor…

Well, it was relatively easy to draw some relatively unpleasant conclusions from that.

Aside from that, his ear had begun itching. That was definitely evidence of some evil plot afoot.

"Eh, you know I didn't mean it like that."

"Like what?" Surana made a wonderful show of not looking at him. What a healthy way of dealing with problems this was, making certain that they were so thoroughly ignored. "What I care about is being as good a mage as I can be."

Anders finally noticed that the elf's hands were both pale and reddened, as if frostbitten. She had actually done all that work…

"Why aren't you using magic, then?"

He was actually almost horrified by the very idea of doing that kind of manual task without any hint of a spell. Ever since he had learned that he had magic, Anders tried his best to do whatever he could with its aid. After all, if magic was indeed supposed to serve man, then why shouldn't it serve him to cook his dinner or wash his smallclothes? It stood to reason and he was (well, used to be) as good and devout a little Andrastian as an orphan and petty thief could be.

The elf looked at him with eyes wider than the gaps between the pieces of the broken bridge to Kinoch Hold.

"We're not supposed to!"

Yet obviously, she was panicking over the fact that she had done all that work without having to go through it at all. Were it not for how utterly frostbitten her hands looked, Anders would have abandoned all semblance of dignity and started rolling in the grass, laughing. Of course, his robes had already been red that day, so what was a little green? After all, a little color never hurt anybody and mages were the prime example of that.

That self-righteous bastard Irving would at least have a counter-candidate in the next elections for First Enchanter. How was that done, anyway?

"Senior Enchanter-"

"Said the cleanup has to be magic-free." Now that her hands were out of sight, Anders felt something warm pooling near his heart. Maybe close to his spleen, he guessed – he wasn't a healer yet. Anyway, it wasn't bits of the rat anymore, so there was only one possible answer.

Glee. Unhidden, unabashed Schadenfreude, even though Surana's almost hysterical expression had something to do with it, no doubt. It was what a pigeon would look like if it wrestled with a cat for a few grains of corn and came out on top. In short, Anders was probably having the time of his life, even though he didn't yet know it.

"Washing this stuff out of our clothes doesn't count. Besides, do you have any idea what might be in this water?" Anders wasn't an overly superstitious person, but he wasn't willing to dismiss the rumors that Lake Calenhad was filled with all sorts of creepy crawlies that helped prevent mages from getting across. He grabbed the half-dry robe from Surana, who let it go weakly. Oddly, it was almost squeaky clean. Well, she was a girl, all right. "You have to purify it before you rinse the soap off, otherwise you'll just be getting the grime back into the fabric!"

"I-I know that!" Anders thought he could be forgiven for giving this statement the benefit of doubt. The elf wore the same expression as a headless chicken would, if it could indeed make an expression.

Not that he had ever tried to test that theory, or anything.

"Obviously." Her rubbing her hands together in an attempt to scrape together some heat was in no way incriminating. "You weren't kidding about not caring about being anything else than a good mage."

He could never quite tell when the brim of her patience would be reached and the elf would switch from her annoying but bearable shrinking violet persona – which reared its ugly head very scarcely, thank the Maker, because it made her seem almost human. Elven. Whatever.

Once that weakened just a little bit, the usual Surana sucker-punched it into oblivion or simply sent it cowering into a corner with nothing more than a fierce glare.

Long story short, these changes, however occasional, were always swifter than the eye could see.

"And here I thought you were attached to your dirt." The elf glanced at his own clean-but-wet robes with mild distaste; Anders could tell that she was more upset about the fact that he had achieved the same amount of work with less than half her effort than anything else. "You don't even give it a fond farewell."

Blows like this were the lowest of the low.

There was a very simple reason for that. Any way he could snark right back at her with a degrading statement was cancelled out by the fact she was an elf. Not only would he then come up as the pettiest of idiots, he would also very easily back himself into a corner. There were thousands of ways how Surana could drive her point home like a stake through his heart in one triumphant move if he went for the racist angle.

Also, it wouldn't be any fun, because both of them expected the other to go for the cheap shots. Part of the fun was trying to find a means of avoiding the easy shots. Which, admittedly, wasn't always easy.

Of course, sometimes it was.

"Well, why don't you do it in my stead?" Anders grinned in a fashion that would have unsettled anyone yet in possession of their money pouches.

No doubt Surana had some kind of ingenious response prepared for that, such as asking just what in Andraste's secret granny panties this was supposed to mean. However, considering the circumstances, she could be forgiven for trading that doubtless unsurpassable feat of eloquence for a much simpler expression of her feelings.

"Wha-?" she shrieked, her voice much closer to Anders' usual interpretation of its tone than usual. Considering the circumstances, this wasn't entirely unnatural.

The circumstances could be explained in a very simple series of motions.

One, find a partner to perform this experiment, large body of water optional. Two, position yourself near your partner. Three, depending on what side of theirs you're standing at, raise one hand. Then, finally, on the count of three, directly apply sufficient force and pressure on the test subject to topple them over and into the water.

Note to would-be testers: check whether the landing zone in the water is deeper than two feet beforehand to avoid injury, unless you really dislike the testee.

But if you've read up till this point, then… well…

Surana toppled over into the lake, splashing it everywhere in her rather clumsy attempt to get up. If the water wasn't really shallow (yet enough to cushion her fall) she would have no doubt started drowning.

When she managed to get to her feet and regain her balance, she looked much more like a half-delirious banshee than any water creature.

Her hair had come undone from its bindings, water dripping from the thick, darkened strands. Anders had had the good grace not to allow her clean robes to drop into the darkness too. But her current clothing hadn't escaped such a fate; damp and cold and dripping, it clung to her tightly, seemingly too big for her small form.

But her face was red and if her eyes could kill (or shoot fireballs), then she and the templar would by then be roasting him for dinner.

"There; all cleaned up now." Aside from the fact that the robes had already been clean, that is.

Really, Anders could almost see that fire spell igniting; there certainly seemed to be steam coming out of Surana's ears, which were redder than ever.

"That was completely uncalled for!" Her voice was somewhere between a hiss, a scream and a shriek, creating together a sound that was pure anger and indignation.

Anders donned his best innocent expression. "You had some grime left in your hair." he reasoned politely, no matter how close to or far from the truth this might be.

It wasn't the most effective strategy when applied on the one person entirely impervious to the adorable visage that he possessed.

"You didn't have to _push_ me into the water!"

Honestly, the yelling was getting old. For such a small thing, the elf could certainly produce a great deal of sound. Anders wondered why their watch-templar wasn't intervening or at least trying to boss them around, but he supposed that the man was just content to watch them fight as long as no attempt at an escape was made.

Or he could just be paralyzed from the shockwave of the sound. The noise must have been amplified tenfold in that ridiculous bucket on his head. Anders could almost sympathize. Almost.

"Would you have preferred I grab you by the hair and toppled you over?" There was such a thing as a gentlemanly way of shoving someone into a lake, after all. "Anyway, grime's gone now, so do that steam-dry thing and let's…"

Only then did Anders spot why exactly the elf had had problems getting up from the water. The ground closer to the water felt cooler, but the sand just off the lake was almost snow-white. There were bits of ice broken off from a much larger chunk near where the elf was standing, some dangling from her robes and melting, others drifting across the surface of the lake.

_Something _had frozen a good three square meters of the water to various degrees and then melted the most of it just as quickly with one rapid, shattering blast.

"Did you do that?" He didn't mean for the question to come out entirely so breathless – possibly even squeaky. But Anders couldn't help but be impressed. Not even grudgingly this time, which was a miracle in itself.

"What?" Part of the redness drained from the elf's face, mostly retreating to her cheeks as she surveyed her surroundings. Neither the cold or the discomfort of having her feet nearly literally frozen in place seemed to have much of a detrimental effect on her. "Oh, that."

"Yes, that." That unexpected and rapid and _totally unimpressive_ surge of magic he hadn't even noticed. Merciful Maker, if she had aimed at his head…

Surana only shrugged. Just another day in her life, apparently. "Yes, I suppose." Anders rather imagined this was what someone her age would look when caught wetting the bed. "Could you, ah… keep it to yourself?"

"But that's-" Anders didn't actually even know what he should say. He wasn't good at praise for others, nor was he too keen to dish it out to anyone (especially her), but this… "I didn't even sense you powering up!"

Instead of the wide grin and self-praising look that he himself would have given in that situation, the elf actually seemed somewhat ashamed. Or, at least, someone had taught her to feign shame at this display.

So it wasn't just a one-time occurrence.

"It's… this is lack of emotional restraint on my part." But she did feel obliged to explain this properly, apparently, which was another sudden change. She was out of the water, but waited with the application of the spell she had once used on him. The water continued dripping; Surana was hesitating. She glanced at the motionless templar, but then automatically took him out of the equation. Not that he wouldn't understand, but it was simply inconsequential whether he heard or not. Greagoir knew, which was more than enough to make certain that every other templar would. "I sometimes go through these upsurges of mana that spontaneously break through whenever I feel a rapid rush of emotion."

Translation: he didn't want to see Surana when she was angry. And making her angry was potentially hazardous to his health.

The things one learned after a while.

"So… Ice Queen wasn't just a delusional moniker from bitter classmates?"

Humor was nice; humor was understandable. Make nice with the hungry God-killing Abomination, class.

"It isn't always ice, but…" Surana wasn't one for metaphors or flowery speech, but she displayed her emotions very sincerely. While the water sliding down her cheeks might have resembled tears, her gaze was hard, weary. "I've only heard that once before. They really waste time talking about stuff like that?"

She hadn't considered herself one of them – and, right now, it seemed he wasn't one of _them_ either.

_Would you like some biscuits to go with your twisted parallel dimension experience? We offer a wide range of Mildly to Incredibly Crazy flavors today… _

"Well, obviously, they have to create fitting monikers for their future overlords. They're submitting a catalogue for us to pick out our favorites in a few days for our eventual showdown for Supreme Mage Overlord." The elf was looking at him oddly; she hadn't yet decided whether he was joking or not, so that was easy to deal with. "I'm still kind of torn between Anders the Amazing and Outrageously Awesome Anders."

"If you want to have an alliterative name, you can't use the latter." Surana pointed out as the redness faded from her face. When she was ashen and small and pointy-eared, she didn't seem nearly as intimidating. Of course, the effectiveness of her innocent expression was magnified by the rain-soaked puppy look. She was a swift learner on that account. "That's not spelled with an A at the start."

Anders sort of wondered whether boasting this eventually would be a good thing. He imagined himself in forty or fifty years, telling a large and appropriately awed crowd that he had taught the elf that will have slaughtered the whole templar population of the tower one day (hey, one could dream) the puppy dog expression that had given her the edge in the fierce battle.

It wasn't nearly as spectacular or as funny a vision as he had imagined.

"It's the pronunciation that truly matters." Anders noted in an attempt to fume, handing her the robes to dry herself off. Of course, his motivation was to free his hands so that he could fold them to look properly righteous. "My signature on the royal decrees will be shortened, anyway."

"I see." The elf's left cheek twitched, but she didn't call back the waved-away question. She was at least a little bit amused, which was better than angry out of her mind. "Why are mine being discussed, then?"

Anders actually had this bit completely thought through, odd as it might sound.

"You'll be the leader of the temporary resistance – you know; the outwardly heroic underdogs that turn out to be selfish terrorists that want to run the country as a despotic dictatorship."

"Quite unlike your enlightened reign, I'm certain."

"Naturally." He grinned widely as the elf rubbed the dry cloth against her hair, leaving behind a mass of tangles and knots only magic could undo. "Then, we'll have a big one-on-one showdown that ends up with your surrender and a large celebration with flower garlands and fluffy bunnies that establishes the new era of peace."

Surana didn't even have to tap her fingers against her temple to convey the meaning of the brief look she cast him. "Of course. Then I, as the antagonist, have to establish our relationship. You know, to give you a reason to be heroic."

Anders didn't even manage an undignified squeak in response to the sudden swirl of movement, which was both good and bad. Good, because it would have boded ill for his future as Supreme Ruler. Bad, because it showed that his reflexes were obviously sub-par when compared to his highly inflated ego and ambition.

The series of motions could be described thusly: Surana handed him the robes back and he made the mistake of accepting them. Then, with one swift tug and sidestep on the elf's part, the boy was sent crashing head-first into the lake.

He was never, ever, _ever_ going to tell anyone that a shrimp-sized elf had taken him by surprise in a contest raw physical strength. Especially since he did actually shriek like a girl once he hit the ice-cold water.

On the shore, steam was rising from the elf's clothes, leaving behind only warmth. But despite this rather peculiar procedure and her hair now resembling a hornet's nest more than anything, Surana looked as regal as a queen on her throne. At least for the two sentences when she impersonated a Revered Mother, something she did with no small degree of self-suppression.

"I dub thee, Anders the Aquatic, Sovereign of Sinking." she proclaimed with exaggerated hand gestures and a voice bordering on pompous. Her cheeks had dimples which even the steam rising from her clothes couldn't disguise; she was laughing. "May thy reign be moist and bubbly."

This was high treason. Moreover…

"That was _so_ not fair!" Anders proclaimed, still sitting in the water. Somehow, it was a little bit warmer than before, but that could just be the frostbite talking.

"Was too!" And, just to drive the point home, the elf positioned the thumb of her outstretched hand to the tip of her nose and twiddled her fingers just a little as she stuck out her tongue.

The final straw was when she turned her back to the Most Supreme Mage Ruler of Awesome.

"At least dry me!"

"Something the supreme overlord can't do? Shocking!"

"I shall avenge… me!"

"Oh really? You and what army?"

"My faithful fleet of flying rainbow nugs with golden trumpets and sparkling banners!"

Laughing at him would be the first thing to become outlawed. "I'm all a-tremble, oh mighty one!"

"As you should be, Wicked Witch of the…" Something moist and plant-like was obscuring his vision. This prompted another rather undignified sound.

"Watercress?" the elf suggested. And Surana laughed and laughed and laughed as he tried to fish the tangled weed from his normally immaculate hair.

Not everything could be perfect in the world all the time.

The next day, Anders certainly had a hard time explaining what a crown-sized wreath of what appeared to be grass was doing atop all his things.


	4. Four

Apologies for the delay, but my finals are starting soon, so my days are spent carting books around, back and forth. I'd much rather be writing some more of this story, since the more I play DA, the more ideas I get about where this should be heading. I'm kind of playing around with the idea of having it potentially develop into a romance, but it's much too soon for that – of course, it remains thoroughly unclear who the romance itself would involve. Anyway, for the time being, I like the Anders-Surana dynamic, so I'm sticking with that.

Also, this chapter got way long, so it had to be split into two parts. Jowan finally shows up!

Timeskip two years ahead at your leisure – Anders is sixteen, Surana is fourteen.

**o.O.o**

**Four**

**o.O.o**

Two more years in the tower and Anders was bored out of his mind.

He had tried every single means of keeping boredom at bay – at least, all of those that wouldn't get him tranquilized, as he liked to nickname the Rite. However, blessed with an attention span about the size of their Knight-Commander's funny bone, none of them managed to captivate his attention for longer than a day. A week, if they were really good pastimes. Especially when they involved subtly harassing the templars. Subtlety was key, of course; there was nothing more delightful than having the object of your ridicule be ignorant to your contempt.

But then, at the peak of puberty, the hormones that had been finding their outlet by mastering mischief lost their means of regulating their own excitement to boredom. Fortunately, being sixteen, Anders managed to find other pastimes to amuse himself – had he been just a year younger when this happened, surely he would have lost his mind due to the torment of not being amused. But somewhere along the line, girlish giggles had ceased to be annoying, but rather, a signal that ought to be followed through.

Never let it be said that Anders backed down from a challenge, even if he had absolutely no idea what to do.

And so, after a few short weeks of glances and not entirely accidental touches, he found himself in one of the many cabinets and closets of the mage tower, fumbling with a girl who seemed to regard him rather like a piece of candy or a hard-won dolly she could play with.

No complaints there.

After a few such _chance encounters_, Anders found himself liking the tower once more. After all, it was relatively safe to assume that all its residents had excellent medical care, meaning that chances of diseases and illnesses were slight. Chances of pregnancies as well, considering that both parties had received a talk on these affairs long ago from wise superiors who knew what could happen when you locked several dozens of hormonal teenagers and twenty-somethings together in a closed space, without supervision at times.

There would also be no fathers or brothers rushing in to defend a poor _maiden_'_s _honor, which was always a plus.

Girls as sources of pleasure and stress relief gained a new look in Anders' eyes after a short two month period of playing hide-and-seek; and none of these encounters ended in tears, because both sides knew exactly how much they could expect from the other.

In a way, it was paradise, though Anders was eventually forced to ponder the question what would happen once he ran out of girls to get to know; the tower had only so many residents, after all.

A minute later, he was forced to conclude that such a thing was impossible, for two reasons. One, there were always new apprentices around, growing up with them, coming in and getting settled, becoming part of the little ant farm he was stuck in. And two, there was one girl who would never consent, should he ever be mad enough to want to settle for such a low standard.

Restlessness aside, Anders was a good student; he could say without boasting that he was becoming a fine mage, talented at many areas of the arcane. But if he were perfectionist enough to want to be the very best and neurotic enough to take offense when he wasn't, he would have hated a certain elf with a scorching passion.

For all intents and purposes, Surana liked to pretend that the exploding rat incident never occurred, not that Anders tried to break that act. She remained as distanced and aloof as ever, always cozying up to the First Enchanter – he was the kind of type to need a sycophant, a position which the elf filled brilliantly. And, of course, whenever the tutors managed to get her to do some magic instead of being stuck in a book, she wiped the floor with them all.

Anders never saw any sign of the loss of control she had mentioned to him back then, but then again, they didn't talk that much. Surana was Surana; she had her own little world where no one else was allowed, aside from that one boy who always followed her around. He was easier to figure out, with his uncertainty and suppressed passions. The elf gave him focus, especially when he was unable to cast the spells she managed with the flick of her wrist. Somehow, she was a stabilizing influence on the boy that would most certainly get picked on otherwise.

Anyway, there were much more pleasant things to think about at truly any given time. Especially when he was about to indulge in one of these wonderful encounters and in no danger of running out of prospective beauties.

If Anders had any fault, it was that his memory for names wasn't the best. He could remember what the girl looked like – down to the auburn hair and brown eyes, at least – and how her voice sounded, but her name was just relatively… gone from his mind.

Of course, the main reason for this was that he talked to practically everyone, whether they were willing conversation partners or not. At least he thought this was the reason.

In any case, thinking could really wait. After all, the girl was pretty and smiling and then not speaking, the cabinet they stumbled into was dark, cozy and _small_ and, well…

Anders was infinitely grateful for whoever had decided that the dormitories in the apprentice quarters shouldn't be gender-separated.

Things like this made him question the usefulness of Andrastean concepts like marriage and family and all that silliness non-mages were encouraged to indulge in. if there was one thing about the tower that reminded him of his long-gone street urchin days, it was the ever-present fact that commitment of any kind was little more than a fleeting utopia.

He much preferred the kind of fantasies that turned into reality eventually – like, say, how easy it could be for someone with practiced hands to work their way under another's seemingly impenetrable robe. This girl certainly knew what she was doing, unlike some of the others. Age did equal experience sometimes – twice so when it came to removing clothes in closed spaces during a short time.

There was some kind of rustle in front of the door, but they were in the middle of something and using the practiced silence of experience, so it wasn't as if…

No one should have known how to open that door, because that was a modification of a small spell on Anders' part. But with the slightest surge of magic, the door practically burst open, with an almost alarming flash of light. And Surana's half-annoyed, half-impatient expression was slipping off her face faster than melted butter.

Surana's green-blue eyes went protuberant in the span of a second, her already ashen face draining of all color. She looked like a peculiar cross between a codfish and a broken china doll, and Anders didn't know whether to be amused or horrified. Especially when it became obvious she was trying much too hard not to be analytical and let her gaze sweep the whole situation, but it was rather like restraining a cat from chasing mice.

"I—I see that there isn't a proper place to get flasks." Maker above, she was actually shivering as if hit with one shock spell too many. "E-excuse m-me." she managed to get out before clumsily shoving the door shut and running off as quick as her little legs allowed her; possibly even allowing some magic to speed her up. She looked queasy enough to faint or barf.

The door slammed and after the hasty footsteps retreated, the girl he was still in the closet with burst into squealing giggles, delighted instead of embarrassed. Anders couldn't claim to be an especially savvy expert on female behavior, but this reaction was definitely contrary to his expectations.

"Oh, did you see her face?" she managed to ask through her fit of merriment, each word punctuated with a slight titter. Now, amusement was one thing, but it was almost as if she was enjoying this mild intrusion more than their activities themselves.

"It was kind of hard not to."

The girl cracked a grin, but then it cracked into a satisfied sneer she clearly expected him to share. "Indeed. That'll show her to poke her nose where it doesn't belong, damned knife-ear."

Fortunately, the cupboard was a small dark space, otherwise Anders' frown would have been quite visible. Of course he, too, had used racial slurs like that easily back as a street-rat in Denerim, but it was a little strong in their current situation. That being both the overall mages-stuck-in-a-tower predicament and the smaller stuck-in-a-cupboard situation. That was a little strong; they were all in this together.

Though that wasn't necessarily a topic he wanted to discuss with a semi-disrobed girl in his lap.

Instead, Anders swallowed whatever vague resentment this remark woke up in him (and why should he defend Surana anyway?), put his best _come hither_ smirk in place and allowed his hands to roam. "I hope this hasn't ruined your appetite for other amusements…"

"Of course not." Even if the girl was indeed jealous of Surana – a trait shared by most apprentices who didn't know what else to waste their time and energy on – there was absolutely no doubt that this was the one thing she beat the elf effortlessly in; knowing exactly how to shed the innocent little girl façade and get to business, as it were. "That was just the icing on the cake, as it were."

"Now…" Anders grinned, any memory of insult or the streets long forgotten. "Where were we?"

**o.O.o**

Surana didn't come to class later that day.

Anders didn't really notice that at first, but eventually, he figured out that something was wrong about the whole day. For one thing, there wasn't any kind of unnecessary bragging in class, no needless exposition about things no one ever wanted to know, no pointless interruptions to add stuff during normal answers.

He had all but forgotten about the whole closet incident, but when the elf didn't show up for a single class until the very afternoon, the possible connection surfaced. It seemed rather ridiculous at first, but he ran out of possible reasons as the day progressed, because nothing short of crippling physical harm would keep Surana away from classes that long.

Possibly the chance to get gigantic amounts of extra credit by clearing the Senior Enchanter lavatories with a toothbrush, but that wouldn't be too much of a problem with magic, so that theory was useless.

To be honest, all things considered, Anders wasn't quite certain how he should take the situation. It was amusing, yes, albeit in a very twisted sense, that Surana had been so freaked out. But then again, he hadn't thought it would be enough to actually get her to stay away from her precious classes. Yet there wasn't any other explanation for her sudden absence; nor for the fact that their lecturers had obviously been pre-informed of this event and were very obviously trying to hastily rearrange their classes in a way to find another person who was willing to answer their useless questions and actually bothered to study.

That there was a rare and annoying combination.

Not that Anders had any kind of concern for Surana; it was more about him than anything. There wasn't a thing anyone could do to him even if the elf blabbered about this, but her testimony could make life in the tower a bit more of a pain than it actually was at the moment. And here he hadn't thought that might be possible.

Plus, he was also curious. Just a bit.

Thus once their free period was upon them, Anders actually hadn't been paying much attention to their teacher for half an hour. Just so that he knew what to look up if he actually needed to do any kind of reading.

"Defenses against blood magic." Niall wasn't the best guy for enthusiasm of any kind, but he was a good listener. Moreover, he didn't snark at you when you weren't in the mood to take that from people. Thus, he was certainly a favorite with Anders when he wasn't in the mood for verbal tennis. "As if we're ever going to need anything like that. The way things are going, we're not going to see the outside of the tower anytime soon, much less defend ourselves against blood mages."

The combination of despair and giving up didn't necessarily make him a most favored conversationalist with others, naturally, but it was refreshing not to be faced with jaw-dropping stupidity.

Subtlety being a virtue in a place with a limited number of people locked in, Anders didn't approach the problem directly.

"I was half-expecting Surana to start citing theory on that too." That got him a weary chuckle, so the point could therefore be easily pressed as they were packing up their things. "Come to think of it, I haven't seen the old marsh toad in class today."

"If you ever arrived on time, you'd have seen that she sent word to excuse herself." Niall noted, clumsily trying to make sure one of the more ancient books they had been using wasn't going to fall apart on his watch. That would have certainly amounted to detention, at the very least. "Odd, really; she never skips class unless she's on her deathbed."

As luck would have it, his companion of a few days – but just one closet – previously was in that particular class and quite eager to listen in on conversations that didn't involve her. Well, they did, but only marginally, and abstractly at that. So it was in fact eavesdropping of the foulest kind, offset only by the even more annoying giggling.

Honestly, something about that sound was beginning to run Anders the wrong way, even though he couldn't really put his finger on it.

"She may as well be." the girl almost chortled, trying to seem ladylike by covering her mouth with her hand for an instant. Needless to say, it wasn't working too well.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Despite his apparent weariness, Niall was the one who asked that question, more curious than irked – which was the angle Anders would have gone for, personally. Honestly, girls might not be freaky anymore, but they still were best when silent.

The girl stopped her hyena impression for long enough to squint a little at the dark-haired boy. "You sound like you miss her. Does someone have a crush?" she cooed, which almost but not quite reached for the level of annoying the giggle had set up as a hurdle. "I'd never have figured you for an _animalistic_ type."

Again, that racial talk. It was impolite; moreover, it was completely pointless. What Niall said – aside from the mildly non-understanding frown of disapproval – pretty much was what Anders thought. "Our situation nullifies any differences there might be between us."

Ergo, it wasn't important.

The girl certainly didn't seem to think so; not amused by the lack of protests and indignation, she proceeded to sneer. "I'm sure they do for perverts."

Anders possessed the rare blessing (and curse both) to anticipate the eventual outcome of a situation by combining several variables. This time, it was Niall's willingness to engage in a pointless argument (which was close to nil) and this girl's (he still couldn't remember her name, but funnily enough thought of the word unicorn when trying to remember) persistence. Add to that that her intent in coming here was obviously an attempt to catch him alone and possibly (the horror) try to talk about all the things a relationship (and he used that word lightly) between mages should not be about.

The math was quick and easy, after all, so Anders did it without any problems.

"What's the next class?" he diplomatically asked Niall, trying not to get involved in the discussion.

"Potions, why?"

But before confusion could turn into comprehension for Niall, Anders was far away, practically sprinting off with his things. Potions class was good. Potions meant lots of colorful smoke and activity and the occasional explosion – besides, Senior Sweeney was getting on his years a little bit, so it was highly doubtful that he'd notice or remember one missing apprentice.

And it wasn't as if they did any of the really important stuff there, like mix up poison for the templars' food or bombs to blow up the tower outer war or something. Point being, he wasn't missing anything.

Besides, if Surana was allowed to skip class, so was he – he was at least as good in some aspects, that was a given. And this warranted investigating.

After such a long time of running all around the tower with heavy books, Anders knew the place better than the back of his hand. Moreover, the places where the elf could be lurking were rather limited. His first stop was the library, the obvious choice, but there was no sign of her. In this case, it wasn't surprising; an emergency library visit wasn't enough to warrant an extra free period.

The next stop were the apprentice quarters. Anders didn't know exactly where Surana's bed was, nor did he care to know, but there weren't too many people around and none of them radiated that positively self-righteous vibe. Again, no success.

It actually took him about half an hour to locate any trace of her, which wasn't that long, but given how large the tower was and how many places they had access to as apprentices… well, it was a rather impressive feat of hide-and-seek, that was all. Anders actually almost missed her and wouldn't have noticed at all if it weren't for the groan coming from the corner of the main circular chamber. It was one of the many rooms in the mage quarters – well, more like an alcove designed to look like a room while remaining open to the rest of the hall.

Whoever had designed the tower had liked outdoor terraces, but had no opportunity to implement them into their magnum opus. Thus they designed them as indoor terraces – same setting with two opposing chairs and a table, but none of the sunlight or comfort.

Brilliant, really.

There sat the boy Surana almost always hung out with – human, thin, dark-haired yet mousy and about two minutes away from begging the nearest templar to run him through. Though, to his defense, the amount of books near him certainly justified such a state.

There was no mistaking that giant stack of books placed strategically to ensure some semblance of privacy. And, behind them, just barely in sight, were two hands with the sleeves of an apprentice's robe, going through a gigantic dusty tome and a long braid gently swaying whenever the hidden figure moved.

"Surana! Oi, Surana!"

Her perpetual shadow was there, meaning that it had to be her, no matter how much she tried to hide herself.

The dark haired boy glanced up and actually looked like this sudden interruption was a welcome intrusion. "Someone's calling you." he noted; the words could just about be made out.

There was a shuffle of parchment behind the books and Anders could swear that he saw the elf's left eye twitching, even though all he could see was some of her robes. If she was trying to be stealthy, though, she wasn't doing a particularly good job about it.

"It's just a fly." she said, punctuating the words with the continual scratching of her quill. "A buzzing, _annoying_ fly. Ignore it."

Being ignored was no fun; certainly not something Anders was going to tolerate at this point. After all, he had skipped class specifically to annoy her, so she could sodding well at least be grateful and pretend to put up a good fight.

Anders didn't wait for an invitation; he made himself one. Behind the book stack was the elf hunched over some more books, apparently torn between purposely ignoring him and glaring at him. Thus she settled for giving the parchment the stink-eye, occasionally glancing at the somewhat exasperated friend.

"Aw, you hurt my feelings now." She seemed all right – well, that wasn't necessarily what he'd use to describe Surana. More like, she was intact and distinctly midget-like, which really robbed her of any reason for skipping class. Even the boring one. "I think I might have to go cry for a moment. There, all done! You can't keep avoiding me forever."

"You don't know how I wish I could." The elf almost didn't even realize that she had said those words out loud and proceeded to try and explain the multi-colored diagram she had drawn (shakily, but then again, the tower didn't exactly have an art school) to the human boy.

That was just bad manners, Anders concluded as he commandeered a nearby chair. Besides, what normal person studied with diagrams that apparently contained more words than lines?

"I'm trying to be nice here, you know." he reproached, grabbing the book she was on the verge of reaching for and trying to decipher what she was looking for. Even upside down, it made no sense. Elves, really. "You could be slightly more cooperative with my monumental effort."

Surana sighed, though it was half a growl more than anything else and her book thief actually recoiled. While against considering elves less than humans, that animalistic sound put some doubt to that theory. "I'm busy, Anders, go back to cleaning closets. Seems like you're good at that."

"Oh, you noticed?" Anders was innocence itself for a whole of three words. Then, resuming his grin, he returned to full on pestering mode. "Come on, you aren't making this easier for me."

"Never a templar around when you need one." the elf muttered, looking around for one just in case.

"Cruel as ever. And here I actually wanted to apologize…"

One would suppose that she'd start trying to once more drive him away, then stop and realize that he had said _apologize, _stumble over it and provide an opening to be laughed at. However, Surana wasn't quite so simple; she certainly didn't buy the apology part. In fact, she shook her head as if she hadn't heard it at all and, for the first time, looked at him with an almost disappointed frown.

"Not that I care what you do in your free time, but… an _ingredient_ _cabinet_?" Her eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch, as if to say, _really?_ Anders was actually a bit surprised – did she have experience in these matters? Oh, now that would be one for the books. "That has to be the height of stupidity."

"Hey, there's no need to be like _that_." Below-the-belt strikes were in his repertoire, after all, especially so early in the conversation. "Give me some credit for actually making an effort here."

And, just like that, she was ignoring him again, reaching out for her book. "Just leave me alone, I'm traumatized enough."

But her friend, whose eyes had been darting from one side of the discussion to the other, found another use for this conversation and stood up. "I'm not sure I want to know what happened." he said slowly, but it was obvious that he didn't intend to stick around. "In fact, I'll see you later, Suri, okay?"

Not even waiting for her answer, he practically scurried away, to put as much distance between himself and the stack of books she wielded as a weapon as possible. Surana wasn't quick enough on the uptake, especially since she was still trying to pretend Anders wasn't there.

"No, Jowan, wait!" But there was a quill in her hand and several books in the way, along with a particularly annoying nuisance. Needless to say, by the time she was on her feet, Jowan was out of the door and far, far away. Sulkily, she slumped straight back into her seat. "Great. You gave him a chance to run off just when I finally managed to convince him to come practice summoning with me." she grumbled, glaring at Anders as if this was his fault.

Which, theoretically, it was, but that wasn't the point. The kid had obviously been searching for a means of avoiding this tutoring session, so he owed Anders a favor. Besides, there wasn't anything to be done about it now.

"Yes, my master plan is obviously working just according to my… plan." Anders finished lamely, pulling the chair a little closer. Upon inspection, the elf looked irritable, ashen and smarmy. Nothing out of the ordinary there. "I have no idea what you see in him, though."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Surana asked with a penetrating stare that would have sent many a lesser man running. There were probably many males out there that ought to be grateful that there wasn't a high chance of her ever being their mother-in-law, because that would be very scary.

Anders, on the other hand, was pretty much used to it and offered a cheeky grin. "Nothing, _Suri_. Just that you're an odd couple."

Come to think of it, he'd seen them together many times, but never heard the boy – Bowen? Rowan? Something like that, anyway – call her by a nickname like that. Granted, Surana wasn't the nicest of names, but it was only three syllables long and didn't rhyme with anything properly insulting. It was kind of lame and pointless to shorten it like that.

"Look, I'll try to forget what I saw if you stop using that nickname." Surana suggested, suppressing the urge to grit her teeth when he spoke that word. "Deal?"

"You drive a hard bargain… but sure, why not?" Anders shrugged. Someone was _touchy_ about this… but then again, it wasn't any more surprising than her insistence on not telling anyone her actual name. "You could make things easier for yourself by just telling people your name, of course. Oh, wait, I know; it's ugly."

"That joke got old after the first five hundred times."

"Riiiight. Anyway, what are you up to?"

"Don't you have class now?"

"Yep, but pestering you is much more amusing." She had class right now too, but reminding her of that might prompt her to sprint over there, now that her teaching activities were over. And annoying her several times was more fun than doing so only once – never let it be said that Anders didn't know how to prioritize things properly. "I'm getting good at it, you see, but I have to keep up the ability by practicing. So here I am."

"How lucky I must be. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go look for Jowan and get him back here to study."

"Why do you need to do this?"

"Huh?"

"Is this like remedial summoning or something?"

Narrowed eyes that practically shot lightning bolts; no wonder Surana made friends _so easily. _"I won't let you or anyone make fun of him."

"Oh, like you could stop it. Hey, hey, it's just a simple question." Anders raised his hands defensively when Surana downright bristled. Mother hen, much? Who would have thought? "Besides, making fun of you is easier and more fun than wasting energy and time on him."

"He…" But, miracle of miracles, the elf swallowed whatever venom she had and looked down at the book, a little sad. "Jowan has problems with focusing, It's more of a lack of will than of talent and… well, since summoning is pretty much willing things into existence, it's his weakest subject. I want to help."

"So your particular brand of help is dragging a helpless person away, shutting them with a ton of books and only yourself for company and lecturing them? Brilliant idea."

"I'd say you're kind of an idiot, but I really don't need to hear your feeble attempts to prove me wrong that will only end up as evidence to my argument anyway. Your particular… choices are evidence enough." Now they were finally talking! "Seriously – Eurfron?"

"Right, _that_'s her name. I thought it was something with too many rs." There were only two that he could hear, but that was beside the point. "Anyway, I fail to see your point… or why you're bringing this up. Or are you jealous? Is that it?" Now that would be both amusing and disturbing. "If so, let me crush your fragile hopes right now."

Unfortunately, the expression Surana put on for a moment showed that she was most likely thanking the Maker for that. "I meant that her friends were the ones to ask me to bring ingredients from that closet since I was already going to the ingredient room. Specifically that one." She was kind enough to enunciate, in case his puny brain wasn't getting it. "They asked nicely, too."

"That'sa pretty lame way of settling petty grudges." Anders noted, then blinked. "Wait, you mean she told her friends that we were going to be in there?" A nod. "And then instructed them to- oh, that's just wrong. Do girls do that?" Surana didn't count, but she was close enough, so her nod was an affirmative. "Weird. No, not weird, disturbing."

"I'm glad I managed to speed up your thought process." the elf noted dryly, closing her tome and proceeding to organize the stack according to cover and book size.

"I feel so used."

"Dirty, you mean."

"No, just used. It isn't a sensation I reconcile with easily."

"I sympathize, truly." You could just feel the heartfelt emotion in that statement. Surana gathered up her books – for such a small frame, she certainly had a lot of brute strength – stood up and, one word later, managed to crash straight into the nearest mage. "Now- I-I'm sorry, Enchanter, I didn't see you there." she stammered, once again practicing her codfish impression.

Anders was doing his best to be silent while almost in stitches. That expression got him every time.

Enchanter Torin – the teachers, Anders did remember, at least most of the time – didn't appreciate the artistic effort put into that, partly because he was busy peeling a diagram on concentration from his forehead. "That much is clear, apprentice." he said, none too pleased even though Surana's move the grab the paper was most timid. "At least you might see that your presence is desired in the First Enchanter's office."

"May I ask why?" The elf was making an effort to be polite this time, but it didn't work too well.

At least not on Torin, who only narrowed his eyes at her. Surana quickly resumed gathering her books from the ground. "You may ask Irving. I am not privy to the affairs of the First Enchanter and his pet apprentice. If you don't know, I assume you'll want to get there quickly and find out."

Something told Anders that perhaps he ought to be gracious enough to help the elf pick up the many books from the ground when the Enchanter stalked off in an apparent huff, but pride said otherwise. Besides, it was more likely that Surana would slap his hand away from her precious tomes than allow him to touch it, so he wasn't willing to risk it. Cooties she might not have, but rabies were still a possibility.

Faint, but there.

He was, however, bored enough to want to stick around for a little while longer. Everyone knew that she was Irving's pet apprentice – one of the many reasons Anders hated the First Enchanter's guts, though certainly not the most relevant one – and it wasn't often that something slipped her notice.

"You don't know what this is about?"

Surana managed to get the books back on the desk; she loathed to leave them there, but apparently this summons was more important than anything else. "No, usually I get news a little in advance." She dusted off her robes and immediately made a move towards Irving's office, but stopped after a few steps when she noticed that Anders was keeping pace with her. "And where do you think you're going?" she asked, folding her arms.

Anders just rolled his eyes; perhaps she actually was female, since only girls could complicate things like that and ignore the obvious.

"To the First Enchanter's office, slowpoke. Hurry up or Irving will get mad at you. Or don't. That'll be more fun." he grinned, running off, leaving an exasperated Surana to catch up with him.


	5. Five

Sorry for the long delay, writer's block isn't exactly very inspirational. I also didn't want to end on a cliffhanger this time, so if the chapter ends a bit abruptly, then the rest of the scene next time should make up for it.

Just to reassure everyone, this story will get finished.

**o.O.o**

**Five**

**o.O.o**

Anders wouldn't go as far as admitting that he was actually curious about what Irving had in store for his unwilling huffing companion (the elf clearly wasn't a very physical person, all the stair-climbing aside). In fact, if anyone asked, he would have readily answered that it was a choice between skipping class and hanging out with Surana…

Well, let's just say that it was a close call, but he would take his chances with the elf.

He didn't get sent into the First Enchanter's office often, but Anders remembered the vast bookshelves filled with the only books in the Tower worth reading. Templar-imposed censure was present even in the library, which had books already approved by the Chantry. That often got quite annoying when doing a paper that needed referenced information that wasn't there the next day.

Needless to say, "a templar took it" was a popular excuse among apprentices when asked about factual errors like that.

The rest of the room was dominated by a wide, sturdy desk that a study-frenzied apprentice would probably sell their best robes for, an ornate chest that likely contained goodies that would get potential thieves severely punished and some new decoration. A couple of rather distasteful grey stone statues, all sharp angles and a grim air around them.

Oh, wait, it was just a bunch of templars. Any artistic value of the piece was thereby nullified. Which wasn't that much of a loss.

In the forefront of the group was Knight-Commander Greagoir, as was his custom, making the other templars look as redundant as the extra vowels in his name by the level of stony disapproval generated by his eyebrows alone. The others were nearly interchangeable in Anders's vision; human (as all templars were), tall, sporting military haircuts and morose yet uncertain expressions.

New, then. And, given that all their cranial mass had apparently been exchanged for upper body muscle, even the lack of buckets didn't hide the fact that these were templars fresh out of their training.

In fact, Irving with his old man beard and multicolor robes looked like the most normal of the bunch. The First enchanter actually didn't look too surprised to see him there, for some reason, but he focused on the second arrival behind him first.

"Ah, there you are, Surana." While Anders took all this in, the elf had managed to catch up with him and close the door he had dashed through behind them. The elf, still out of breath, bobbed her head at him, giving the others a stiff nod. "And an unexpected helper, I see."

"Irving, I thought we had agreed on this already." Greagoir had obviously been waiting to speak the second before Surana entered, and, unsurprisingly, quite ready to voice his disapproval. "I am willing to tolerate the girl, since you take such a shine to her, but to allow another apprentice to do this is folly; especially one who has shown an authority-defying streak in the past."

Anders was quite certain he would have been able to deduce all of this from the single stony glance sent his way. The entire Kraken of Calenhad incident hadn't been his fault at all; it wasn't his fault that he was the most recognizable person fleeing from the scene when the whole thing happened. In comparison to the all-speaking templar glare number two thousand six hundred and fifty three, the disapproval aimed at Surana was almost complimentary.

After so many years, Irving was apparently immune to all these things, though, and was even gracious enough to ignore Surana's poker face stare fixed on an unspecified speck of dust in the air and his own hasty recalculation that the presence of templars certainly wiped all the fun from this.

"Come now, it will hardly hurt." Irving said in the same tone a mad maleficar might use to try and soothe a soon-to-be victim strapped to a blood-stained table. "Besides, the more the merrier, in cases such as this."

Needless to say, the First Enchanter wasn't Anders's most favorite person ever. Actually, if a contest about that was going to be organized on this account, the losers would likely be locked in this very room and left to fend for themselves.

"If you dispensed with the air of mystery, this discussion might end up being much more productive." Surana looked at him as though he had spontaneously sprouted a second head and insisted on doing a coordinated dance routine with himself.

"Your eagerness to help does you credit, young Anders, but patience would suit you just as much." Before Anders had the chance to say exactly what he thought about that and possibly get more than just a single glare from the broad templar arsenal, the First Enchanter focused his attention back on Surana. "Several new templars have arrived today to start their tenure here, as you can see. They are quite new to the company of mages and no doubt have many questions about the tower."

"These can as easily be answered by me, Irving, you know that."

"Yes, of course, but if we are to coexist harmoniously, they must be exposed to mages some day." The Knight-Commander looked about as pleased by that as if someone had eaten the very last of his chocolate cookies – not that Greagoir ate cookies. The popular theory was that the man survived on air, faith and laxatives alone. "We might as well start early, with those in my confidence."

It was said that familiarity bred contempt, but Anders could testify that the chain didn't start there. Annoyance apparently bred familiarity and repeated exposure to a memorable annoyance even more so. Thus, he could practically read Surana's entire thought process in her eyes, with her judging this setup as downright ludicrous and possibly even stupid. However, due to their difference in respect for Irving's judgment and intellect, they were rather divided on the reaction part. Anders would have personally walked off the scene at this point without as much as an apology.

"You… you want me to answer questions for templars." Surana, though, seemed to need some form of clarification that this stupidity was actually being asked of her by her sometime-mentor. You could almost hear the pedestal ready to crack and break down while the elf attempted to hold onto hope that it wasn't true.

At least Irving seemed to be getting a good laugh out of this. The new templars looked like they were about to pass some very stubborn kidney stones and if Greagoir's moustache could cast lightning spells, they would have all been moderately crispy by now.

"Maker, no, no. I wouldn't have called you for quite so simple a task." Well, it was good to know that their intelligence was being aptly judged. Since the Knight-Commander looked at him at that point thanks to some sixth sense of his, Anders promptly swallowed that thought. "They have been assigned to help catalogue the new supplies from the mainland they came with, along with some other leftover items. Senior Enchanter Sweeney's eyes are getting worse, I understand, and he continues to refuse proper treatment. You know the storage room better than most and I'm certain the young gentlemen will interact better with someone their own age than myself or another elderly mage."

The elf stood almost ramrod straight, clearly conflicted between her desire to please the First enchanter and her distaste for the templars. In a different situation, it might have come off as if she was opposed to relatively normal-looking human males (nowhere near as handsome as Anders himself, in his own opinion, though the armor had the tendency to do that to everyone), but there were few apprentices whose stance on their silent guards was more clearly defined. Most young mages felt a combination of intimidation and anxiety towards the templars, colored with just a hint of resentment. Whenever Anders saw Surana with templars around, she did her best to pretend they were nothing more than a garish lamp she had to keep on display for an irritating cousin with flamboyant tastes.

When Surana actually looked at a templar, one understood why she was often called an ice queen by fellow apprentices. Anders wouldn't go as far as suggesting that she'd watch them die with unrestrained glee and then do a victory dance on their cooling corpses, but nothing in the elf's demeanor suggested she'd lift a finger to help them in such a situation. Only Greagoir seemed to incite some semblance of fear in her, though when he was finished bringing her in line, the cold stare would resume behind his back.

"I will do as you ask, First Enchanter." Surana parroted the words without much enthusiasm, even though some spark returned to her voice when she focused solely on Irving. Even so, she still looked as though some remote sane part of her mind was yelling its head off at her for agreeing to this.

Anders himself had no such dilemma with himself, authority-defying streak and all that. "Wonderful. Well, it seems you have no further need for me, so I might as well make myself scarce. I believe I might have a class in ten minutes or so anyway."

"A class you were fully intent on not attending, it seems." Greagoir had an amazing knack for managing a sepulchral voice whenever handing out blame, making every word seem like a final condemnation from the Maker. It was easy to see how the man had earned his post. "Since you are so eager to take part in extra-curricular activities, you will be making yourself useful and help my men with the supplies while Surana catalogues the contents. Your punishment is non-negotiable."

It was remarkable how easily an interesting means of artful mischief could turn into a punishment with just a few words from a specific person. The Knight-Commander stalked off to do whatever his job entailed – something a sulking Anders still wasn't certain of to this very day – while Irving introduced their new statues to them. At least, to Surana, who was apparently at least half-listening, given how flushed her ears were and how she was clearly fighting the urge to pour her concerns with this whole thing out now that Greagoir was gone. If Irving was aware of this – and he probably was – then he truly was one mean sadistic bastard.

The practically fidgeting templars no longer had anything to hide behind, which meant that they remained petrified on the spot, as if they had been caught going through someone's underwear drawer with the sillier contents draped over their heads. Anders caught only part of their names, but was pleased to find out that they apparently had a theme to their names – this being the alphabet. Gleefully, he dubbed them Subjects A, B and C, barely able to differentiate between them. One had slightly curlier hair than the other two, but with the mud-brown shades and military haircuts, it was still difficult to tell apart.

In any case, apparently Surana, now armed with several rolls of parchment, a clean quill she clumsily stuck behind her pointy ear and a bottle of ink she was taking extra care with, had all the information she needed to head out. She had also finished boot-licking and fighting with her saner self, locked away behind several levels of denial and self-repression.

"Come along, I suppose." she said weakly after being dismissed. The templars, for their part, still regarded her warily, as if she were going to tackle them and bite them at any moment, foamy mouth and all.

While it was sort of amusing to see a bunch of fresh templars huddle together like a band of terrified virgins on their wedding night with a three-headed ox possessed by a rage demon… well, it was kind of worth it, given the graphic metaphor Anders managed to come up with while thinking about it. But still, it seemed like the kind of thing a senior mage should do, not something an apprentice would be entrusted with. It was tedious and annoying, sure, but still, not something an underage mage would usually be asked to do.

Given that asking anyone besides the elf at his side about these things was out of the question and he was getting a bit bored with quietly giggling at the templars, Anders proceeded to let his curiosity get the better of him for once.

"Do you usually volunteer for this sort of thing?"

The elf had apparently almost forgotten about his presence in the whole mess and looked as close to being grateful as someone as thick-headed as her could without actually wanting to. Still, she was a little bit jittery. She usually stared down individual templars, apparently.

"Well… not this sort of thing, precisely." That was a promising start. "I mean… I do help out at times, but usually look up information in obscure tomes and such."

"Did any of those say anything about herding templars or awkward silences?"

"The books I've been reading were rather vague on those parts."

Of course, their odd little entourage and they themselves received a hefty amount of stares during their walk through the tower, from every direction. Surana, the expert on ignoring this kind of thing, simply marched on forward, but Anders was sort of gleeful to see that the new templars were still somewhat on edge, even if they had managed to start quietly talking with one another and one attempted to respectfully incline his head towards any other templars they passed. Some responded, other refused to break their living statue routine.

But the interchangeability of the men remained, along with the clunky armor that provided a very attention-gathering contrast to his practiced light walk and the elf's nearly weightless footsteps. They gradually calmed down, possibly accepting that they weren't getting out of this place anytime soon or remembering that they were supposed to at least pretend that they were dignified. Still, the choice between paranoid and snooty templars was a close one, but the young ones were usually worse in both situations. This bunch was likely somewhere around twenty and fresh from school to boot – if the initial shock didn't break their ridiculous ideals, then it would reaffirm them to obsession in time.

Anders was actually somewhat insulted that the templar hatchlings apparently viewed Surana as the more intimidating of the two of them. He had been announced as the troublemaker; plus, he was taller. Still, there was something about the way the elf paid them as much attention as the three-headed ox would in the presence of a lovely grassy meadow gifted especially to the lucky animal that unnerved them, apparently. But ignoring them was no fun, especially since they still looked three steps away from panicking like headless chickens.

"The storage room is through there." Surana announced when they reached the appropriate room. "Senior Enchanter Nantlias should let us in." She spotted the first senior mage nearby and marched straight up to them, not even bothering with the unspoken command that they should wait where they were.

Anders was quite certain that by now, the templars were utterly confused by the labyrinth of corridors, stairways and similar-looking chambers they had passed through. Neither of the two apprentices had bothered giving anything close to a running commentary about the path, like they would with a newly arrived mageling. Subjects A, B, and C were aptly concealing their cross-eyed confusion, though. Well, for the most part.

"So… enjoying your first tour around the tower?" Anders half-expected one of them to blindly reach for their swords at the shock of someone actually talking to them. The elf would have glared at him for this, but the situation was getting boring, so it needed some touching up… "I bet they don't advertize this in the _What Is Your Chantry Occupation?_ handbook. Dark walls, fine glasswork… no doors…" For this, he specifically pulled out his most ominous tone. "The rooms almost closing in around you…"

A surprisingly precise elbow to the ribcage alerted him to the fact that Surana was back, looking not too pleased with this. "Knock it off. This way; the storage is in here." She headed straight for the gigantic double doors, sparing them a glance only long enough to prompt them to move.

After this, Anders was kind of beginning to understand why the elf seemed more intimidating than him to the subjects; it was highly unlikely that they had encountered one of the pointy-eared folk who treated them with a fine mix of contempt and scorn pushed behind a line of authority and duty. Most likely, they had been quite isolated before that.

Surana stalked off into the storage caves as if she owned the place, leaving them to follow suit. A few dozen steps in, Anders nearly crashed into her, though, as something had apparently managed to stun the elf into stopping (which he noticed after the initial irritation of the whole near-crash was over. A brief glance showed why this was so; the elf had managed to find the supplies they were supposed to sort through. And, after having a look, Anders fully understood the shock and panic.

He hadn't been aware that the Tower had its own private dragon to transport goods over the lake, because there was absolutely no way that rickety little boat could have transported what looked like several dozen crates and boxes of various shapes and sizes to him.

"You came with all of this?" For the first time, Surana actually looked less than sulky, out of her comfort zone, even. No wonder no senior mage had wanted this task, Anders thought.

Since an answer was expected from one of the subjects, there was a momentary silence before the tallest of the test subject trio – Anders correctly remembered him as subject B, but he had no way of knowing that – remembered that they were supposed to be dignified. Which maybe, just maybe, didn't mean have a single apprentice walk all over them without a worry or care. "Yes, this should be the correct batch."

"Kester must have been nervous about taking all this stuff across." Surana murmured, blinking at their workload. "It looks heavy."

"Who?" the same templar inquired, apparently not having enough sense to lose his voice once more and stick to the statue routine.

Fortunately, the mild astonishment had apparently shaken some of the high-and-mighty attitude from the elf and she actually responded courteously. "The ferryman. Usually, he just takes passengers across." Finally, she bit back a sigh and went on to inspect one of the boxes. She laid down her parchment and ink on the nearest empty patch of a table, but kept the quill like a ridiculous accessory. No one dared call her out on it, not even Anders, since there were still more ridiculous things around. "We will have to open each crate and have a look at how many items it contains. Then, I can write it down here and tell you where to go with it."

"And you are just going to sit there and watch while we cart these items around?" Ah, yes, the other subjects apparently drew courage from idio- eh, the other one's s brave feat of actually answering a question. Now, far away from the possible reprimands of their superior, they could freely be the jerks they had to keep suppressed under pretentiousness.

Anders just knew subject A was going to be his _favorite_ out of the bunch.

At least it served to promptly snap Surana out of her reverie. "No, I'm going to be taking stock, keeping inventory and making sure nothing gets lost."

"This is all part of your initiation ritual into the tower, you see." Anders chimed in immediately, because a simple stare contest between two resilient contestants wasn't exactly the most diverting of sights. "Why do you think they had you build up upper body strength at the Chantry; to fight demons or something? Oh, no, no, this is what being a templar means – carting boxes around the repository. What, they didn't tell you this?"

Unfortunately, intervening meant he was the one who got the full blow of Surana's irritation. "You'll be helping them, by the way."

"_What?_ Look, I know that these robes make me look incredibly built and manly, but I rather think this should be left to the professionals."

The elf didn't have the eyebrows to pull off the intimidation quite so effectively, but she obviously wasn't in the mood for pointless arguing, given how quickly she turned back to the less responsive conversation partner – that being whichever templar was willing to answer.

"Can any of you identify anything in the boxes?"

"I would think that is your field, mage." Anders was fully aware that conversing with templars was never worthwhile, given the limited responses they usually had. The problems always started when they finally realized that you didn't have the authority to boss them around. Smarter templars were usually jerks, see exhibit A. "These items were brought here not only for the tower's use, but also not to be seen by innocent people."

"See?" Somehow, though, Surana managed to ignore the condescending words and turn them around on _him_, of all people. "Without supervision, they might not only break something but blow us up at the same time."

Subject C, the leftover templar who had yet to display any actual personality aside from the generic templar brooding, was being oddly active, though, already examining one of the loosely-sealed crates with edgy care.

"These items… are some of them volatile?" Out of the three, he sounded the most morose, as if he would be more at home sitting under a tree in the meadow and writing cheap poetry about the misery of his unloved life.

He even had that woe-is-me-my-oatmeal-is-filled-with-dead-black-roses expression. That, or someone had let out a little gas in his general vicinity and he was trying to stay polite about it while fighting the sour expression associated with such a putrid smell.

"Only when mishandled. " Surana flashed a downright malevolent grin, which provided the hapless templar with reasons aplenty for further ruminations about the point of his existence. "Which I'm sure Anders will help you avoid."

Ignoring any stares, glares and possible objections, Surana brandished her quill with the intent to kill or at least puncture a few lungs. She'd know how to find them, too, with all the diagrams lying around the library downstairs.

The elf found a small, pot-filled crate sturdy enough to hold her weight and commandeered it for seating purposes when she was writing things down. Most of the time, it was the four humans carrying stuff around while she scribbled away, occasionally coming over to check if the crate contents matched the descriptions given by the carriers.

Oddly, she didn't boss them around too much, sometimes crossing the line of unreasonable behavior with a single tone when there was the possibility of an argument needed to be stopped before it began. She didn't even do more than raise her eyebrows and dismissively shake her head when spotting that Anders had a mysterious talent for finding the lightest and smallest parts of the stacks.

He also managed to learn to differentiate between the templars. It was a long and difficult process, but after a few hours, vague hairstyle differences weren't their defining characteristics any longer. With A being the jerkiest of the trio, B was the most devout, if the muttered prayers were any indication and C kept glancing at the elf whenever she was scribbling as if waiting for the quill to come flying. The Chantry obviously put a great deal of paranoia into the heads of its devotees, especially for their crate-carrying deficiencies, apparently.

Meanwhile, considering that there wasn't any music around and no pretty girls around (the elf failed both criteria), Anders managed to find further ways to entertain himself.

"I'm curious. How do you get used to wearing a bucket on your head all day. I mean, of course it's a necessity for polite coexistence in society for some people, but to do so willingly…"

Oddly enough, Surana seemed to turn a deaf ear to the whole thing and continued with her work with less than her usual amount of fuss.

Even with three templars at their disposal, it took them the better part of three hours to deal with the boxes. Most of them weren't filled with hazardous materials and those that were usually needed much more than a little pressure to get set off. However, subjects A, B and C obviously knew about as much about magic ingredients as he knew about the tourist landmarks in the Black City and were already more than a little skittish due to Surana's not at all reassuring comments. Hence they were taking their sweet time about the whole thing.

Anders was beginning to wonder if they were going to miss dinner. He was ready to demand compensation for that.

Surana was already on her sixth roll of parchment and there was no sign of anyone coming to fetch them. Maybe this was just as much of a punishment for her as it was for him, though there was probably an actual reason for her being punished, not just the Knight-Commander making stuff up on the spot.

By this point, Anders wouldn't have been surprised if one or more of those parchments depicted new and imaginative ways to take revenge on Greagoir, given the amount of time she spent being punished or running around doing tedious tasks for him or the First Enchanter.

Then he saw that one of the parchments contained a thorough list of complaints in four evenly measured columns. While the elf was in the back explaining that deathroot wasn't nearly as poisonous as its name would suggest, Anders deftly managed to tear his part on the misdeeds away and hide it under one folded into a miniature pride abomination.

Her caricatures of the templars were surprisingly decent, though, even if he didn't appreciate the lack of an earring on his picture. It was just kind of unfair of Surana to complain of him unsettling the templars when she was trying to do the same in her own fashion.


	6. Six

This is the second part of the ongoing storyline from last chapter, where Anders, Surana and a bunch of templars go run a small errand for Irving. More snarking, surprises and even action this time, hopefully well-blended together. I really enjoy writing this fic, so I intend to finish it. I might need a few plot-pointers once I get to the Awakening timeline, though, since I no longer have or play the expansion.

Anyway, on with the chapter!

**o.O.o**

**Six**

**o.O.o**

The work was more boring than anything Anders could have done that day, and the fact that he was reminded of all the much better things he could be doing wasn't really productive. He had hoped that Surana's unexpected absence and the First Enchanter's summons might have meant something exciting was happening. Or had the potential for happening with a little bit of his expert interference. But this…

Surana seemed to be enjoying herself thoroughly (or, at the very least, didn't appear morose and miserable anymore) and the templars had fallen into a kind of mindless routine. That had to be how they had gotten through their education at the Chantry.

It took them at least two hours to get through the whole thing. Anders couldn't exactly slack off, given that Surana had already glared at him when she couldn't find her critique of him anymore. However, he was able to snatch the smaller things before the burlier men could get to them and spent a good few minutes carrying it around as if it weighted twice as much as the largest boxes.

The elf didn't really reprimand him even if she saw this. Apparently, she liked their guests less than him, even by a margin.

Finally, after several parchments full of notes, subject B came up to Surana once again.

"Those should be the last crates, unless something else needs to be done." he said solemnly, not even bothering to point out the last five or so objects they had to haul over to wherever they belonged.

Anders would have liked to point out the stupidity of asking for more work, but he knew better than to bring this to either of their attention. Besides, he saw something that appeared rather shiny in one of the boxes, so he was off to investigate that.

"No, no, that should be it." That Surana was actually letting them stop hauling crates around was an odd and merciful blessing. "Good work."

She actually commended the work – very little of which she had done herself. After all, in Anders' eyes, hauling crates hardly equaled to writing things down, no matter how neatly. It just wasn't done like that, no matter what. Clerical work, while boring, could never be as exhausting and mindless; well, the latter, perhaps. But still, she had gotten the better end of the stick.

But now, perhaps it was possible to actually return to the fun part of the whole ordeal – making fun of the templars. Bonus points for doing it in ways too subtle and complex for their Chantry-conditioned minds to truly comprehend. Anders couldn't claim to be the most inventive person in the world, but he made the best out of what he had to work with.

So he did the first thing that came to his mind; set his crate aside, leaving it for Ser A the Grumpy and Ser C the Constipated to deal with, and leapt between Surana and subject B with an almost dancer-like grace. The elf was a little startled, raising her eyebrows at these antics before he even managed to outline his plan.

"Wait, wait, wait; there's one more task on the list." he announced in his most grandiose voice, nudging the elf sharply. For that, he received a scowl. "You wouldn't want to rob them of the opportunity to report how despicable we've been to the Knight-Commander, would you now?"

The meaningful glance Surana gave him showed exactly what the elf thought of his brilliant idea. She didn't have the time to reprimand him, though, because one of the templars still dealing with the remnants of the crates started coughing. They should have brought their buckets with them, Anders thought sullenly. They had no need of all their senses for such a simple task as bringing an object from one place to another. Helmets robbed them of peripheral vision and most of their smell, possibly their hearing as well.

Then again, none of these men had any common sense, meaning that they certainly had little need for the more conventional physical senses.

"Are you okay back there?" Anders knew the elf well enough to see that the only reason Surana was asking this was because of the underlying fear that anything and everything they screwed up here would be pegged as her fault. That is, everything that couldn't be chalked up to his fault instead. And taking care of the newcomers fell under her jurisdiction. He had just agreed to tag along.

Subject C's heavy plate gauntlets didn't necessarily help in clearing the air when he waved his hand through the dust. Personally, Anders thought that creating a further whirlwind of dust would only increase his coughing fit; unmistakably, he was proven right yet again. The templar surfaced from the dust for long enough to give his report, though.

"Yes, I think. I managed to squeeze the last box near the one with the strange purple eggs." His armor now looked as if he had spent about an hour in that corner, lovingly wallowing in the dust. "It looks like no one has been using that for a while – it's quite dusty there, but the cobwebs are a little sticky."

"Wait a minute; eggs?" Anders blurted out, just a little astonished. The whole time he had thought that the entire cooking supply was in the basement; the sly Tranquil cooks! And to have the stuff contaminated like this could only mean second-grade supplies. He wouldn't stand for such things. Food was sacrosanct and one of the few things the Tower had better than the outside world. "Cobwebs?"

"A necessity of places such as these, I imagine." The templar had the uncanny ability of making everything sound just as morose as him, which was quite unnerving. He wiped a cobweb out of his hair with little disgust, mostly just the same old semi-sadness that was very peculiar to see on such a young person. "Whoever is responsible for the upkeep here has clearly been doing a lax job."

Surana was greatly relieved, that much was clear for everyone to see – except the templars, of course – and didn't even grumble too much at the fact that the place wasn't as pristine as her graph of their individual misconduct or her notes. "I think Senior Sweeney might need to be reassigned at this point. His eyes have been failing for some time… I'll inform the First Enchanter." She added that as an afterthought; for a moment, she had apparently thought that she was the one in charge.

Typical, Anders thought sourly.

"We can definitely back you up on that." B chimed in, in an attempt to be helpful. Then, his face twisted a little, as if his next words were physically hurting him. "Couldn't you just… use your magic to make it vanish?"

Claiming lack of knowledge on the topic of magic wasn't that atypical, but it was most amusing with a templar. "They don't teach you much about how magic in Smite the Infidel classes, do they?" Anders asked, half-mockingly, half-comprehendingly. He could milk this for all it was worth. "That's not exactly how things work."

This time, it was B himself who temporarily grew a spine and fixed him with a practiced templar glare. "There isn't any need to be this snide." Disapproval, but not yet anger. This one had layers of expression, which might serve him well eventually. "It solves nothing."

Anders answered with a winning grin, which completely trumped any possible emotions the templar could emit. "Of course it doesn't, but it adds a unique element for the whole awkward coexistence situation, wouldn't you say?"

But it was odd that Surana hadn't made an effort to reprimand him herself to reinforce her authority over these poor unfortunate doormats. When he glanced to see if there was anyone giving him a challenging glare worthy of a taunt or two, he saw that the elf had left her spot with almost preternatural quiet. She brushed past subject C without a word of apology; the templar's face reddened a little, but then again it was very likely that he had never come that close to anything female before. Except maybe his mother, but that barely counted in the case of people who had no choice about where they got sent at the age of ten.

The elf then voluntarily approached the dustiest part of the shelves, exactly the place that C had so obviously so thoroughly wiped off. She then started rummaging through the most fragile-looking crate. If she was creating more work for them, Anders was going to complain. Or, rather, let her clean up while he did something much more entertaining.

"What are you doing back there?" A, obnoxious as he was, took the words straight from his mouth. "We finished doing what we came here to do, so we should get back into the tower."

"If the webs were sticky, there might be some kind of leak in one of the bottles." Surana's voice was just a little muffed when her head was inside the crate, and any movement showed only by the shaky rummaging sounds and the swaying of her braid. "I'd rather check it out now and not have something happen later."

The elf was moving further down the shelf, into the smallest space where the templars had barely managed to squeeze a little crate into.

"Can you get in there?" C murmured to his fellow bucket-heads, as if Anders wasn't even standing there.

"Of course she can; she's small enough." A huffed, folding his arms. Like he had better things to do, this one. Whining should be a crime punishable by law, or at least an offense one could be reported and fined for. If this was what Greagoir had to herd around each and every day (not to mention share quarters with), Anders was somewhat beginning to understand the Knight-Commander's cranky voice and stone-eyed poker face tendencies.

Soon, only a brief shuffle could be used to detect where the elf might be. But the sound wasn't really what limbs moving should sound like. Anders was quite familiar with the movement of feet, human or elven, in various footwear, and this sounded rather like rainfall. Or something similar.

In the Tower, the windows were almost entirely barred in most places, to prevent the mages from seeing what was outside while allowing air and sound to enter. And the structure of the tower served as something of a lightning rod for sound, allowing its residents to immediately know when something was happening outside.

Naturally, the templars noticed it much later than he did.

"Did you say something?" B asked, trying to discern which part of the boxes was the elf's head.

"No, I just moved this jar a little." Surana shifted to the side, her eye appearing in-between the boxes only to be overshadowed by the object she was shifting. "Why?"

"I heard some kind of rustling."

Surana dismissed those concerns with her usual high-headedness, but made a distinctly groan-like noise moments later. "Oh, this isn't good."

"What's back there?"

"The cobwebs stuck to a few of the lids. When this dries out, it might become impossible to open it." There was a faint scratching noise, along with a little tapping sound. Surana had apparently tried peeling the stuff off with little success. Unsurprising, if it was sticky. "I might actually need some help here."

"If it's for moving another heavy box, I say we leave it the way it is." Annoying and asking for a shock spell to the head as he was, Anders was almost ready to silently agree with subject A. They had done more than enough – him in particular – and now it was time to demand any kind of reward. "Cleaning up wasn't part of our assignment."

"If the boxes aren't usable, we could be reprimanded." The elf had an uncanny aptitude for a certain kind of manipulation – mainly, emotional threats. She was able to give voice to that little _what if_ at the back of everyone's mind. It worked superbly on the weak-minded, apparently, since subject C reacted so quickly. Maybe his dusty state also had something to do with this obedience, given that A's arms were still folded under his scowl and B settled on remaining clench-jawed. "Show me where the webs connect and I can try to sever them."

"Easy with that!" Anders sidestepped, avoiding the reach of the oversized fruit knife the templar unsheathed with what the mage interpreted as eagerness. Sweet Andraste, they were really conditioned to not think about these things. "We come in peace, not pieces! Surana, let's get someone else to clean this up. I wouldn't put it past Greagoir to think we knitted cobweb doilies to lighten the place up."

But the elf was already wedged too deeply between the various shelves, extracting her would have required much more than a few words. "There's an ironbark sample here stuck to one of the webs." Anders stood corrected, then. "I'll put it back and we can go."

"You're being surprisingly agreeable." The world in general needed to be informed of this stupendous fact, in his humble opinion. "It's disturbing on several levels."

The elf made a frustrated squeal-like sound, and it took Anders a few seconds to realize that he wasn't the reason for her annoyance. "I think my hand got a bit stuck… a little help here?"

"Can't you use your magic on that?" A, as ever, was the soul of wit.

"If you can't unlace your boot, will your solution be cutting off your leg?" Anders snickered behind his sleeve.

Meanwhile, C wasn't wasting time, but didn't exactly have the physique to pull off feats of dexterity and squeezing into small spaces Surana had no trouble with. Method number one on how to escape a templar, Anders mentally catalogued: squeeze through a small shaft where there isn't any room for their armor and ego.

"There isn't enough room to move the sword properly without cutting you." Surprisingly chivalrously, the templar wasn't giving up on her just yet and shifted to the side to fit in a little further. Through the shelves, Anders and the remaining templars saw that he was now within reach of the elf, if she too stretched her arm. "Grab my hand; I'll try to pull you out."

Surana eyed his plate gauntlets warily, but slipped her hand towards it nonetheless. Hers looked twice as small in comparison, especially due to the suit of metal the other wore. The templar's grip didn't seem horribly painful, but the web remained tight – the elf winced. "I'd prefer to keep the skin on my hand- _ow_!"

C stopped his pulling the moment she showed any sign of pain (even an exaggerated one). Naturally, it fell to Anders to once again be the insightful one.

"Don't we have knives for potion ingredients here?" It wasn't likely, but worth a shot nonetheless. "Size isn't going to be very helpful with this."

The templars continued perfecting their art of being thoroughly useless with uncanny precision. Anders had to slap his forehead a little and went on to see if anything sharp was nearby. Not that he really cared if Surana remained there the whole day (in fact it sounded rather funny), but Irving and Greagoir had both seen him, so he would be pronounced guilty by association if the elf chose to squeal. Meanwhile, C continued his attempts at brute strength with predictable results.

"That web is surprisingly strong." No, really? Anders rolled his eyes. They had a smart one here; better watch themselves now! And those other two idiots just had to start tapping their feet like that! "Is that some sort of side-effect of the magic?"

Even squirming, Surana managed to squeak out an answer. "No, there shouldn't be anything around that makes such a-" She froze all of a sudden; something caught her attention. The tapping noise, which she hadn't heard through the rumbling of the templars or the protests of her fellow apprentice. Taking into account factors the others had no idea about yet, she made an educated guess and promptly lost most of her composure. She started yanking at the web most ungracefully. "Get me out of this thing, quickly!"

"What's wrong?" Naturally, for Surana to elaborate, things would take far too much time and effort, and so she provided no such explanation.

Or, rather, she started something, yet it came much too late, and she wasn't given time to finish. "The tremors of the web-"

Several things happened at once, or in rapid succession at least.

The tapping sound resumed, louder and more frequent than before, and Anders thought for a moment that it was coming from all sides, like an echo in these caves. Then, something nudged his foot. Looking down, he expected to see a bottle or vial and react with maturity and his usual manly dignity. Instead, a moment later, Anders was on the nearest empty chair, staring bug-eyed at a creature intent on devouring bugs.

He sensed something akin to a flash of magic and coldness at the same time – Surana cried out and there was a crack of ice and a mighty crash as the elf managed to knock down her would-be-rescuer when the frozen web gave just when he was yanking her forward.

Another of the templars felt something drip from the ceiling, looked up and immediately wished he hadn't. Anders didn't even need to do that much. He avoided the nearest spider crawling down on its meticulous web by sheet virtue of his chair wobbling and almost collapsing on him. The creature nearly crushed the chair with its heavy, dark fleshy body and flared its mandibles angrily at its escaped prey.

It was in this moment that Anders discovered that he had a very peculiar quirk. This being his uncanny ability to remember everything about magical creatures, their anatomy and behavior from lessons he didn't even remember attending the moment the creature was in front of him, angry, and quite ready to grab a bite of the Anders special of the day.

One, giant spiders are most often found in places where the Veil is weak. Two, they like quiet and darkness, lying in wait until something disturbs their webs – they hunt prey by following echoes in the web. And three, they usually lived and hunted in packs.

Surana rolled off C the moment she spotted another spider quickly approaching her – the smallest target and therefore apparently weakest, according to Giant Spider Logic. The thing tried to take a bite of the templar's armor, but recoiled immediately. C remained slightly stunned due to the blow to the head and didn't really react in time, but his eyes turned protuberant upon seeing this first true magical creature threatening something in his path. The other templars hadn't yet remembered that they had swords, apparently, or were expecting the mages to do something.

Well, Anders did. His first reaction was to grab the nearest stick to keep the spider's limbs at arm's length. Then, he remembered that this wouldn't be too useful, seeing another crawler bite into a chair's leg and melting part of the wood into a gooey paste.

When Surana sent a small bolt of lightning towards one of the spiders, Anders finally remembered he had magic and tried a small spell of his own. They were both holding back, he noticed after a second, because neither knew what was in the crates nearby and wanted to find out if it was volatile.

But the things weren't unintelligent. They learned after a moment – by then, there were at least six around, and who knew how many more in the shadows – that the templars' armor didn't really taste well. And that perhaps, in this case, the bright robes of Anders and Surana didn't mean poison, but rather, weak target. Both apprentices were shorter and less broad-shouldered than any of the knights, after all, and didn't have any metal on them.

Surana finally seemed to realize that there was no use in holding back, and that they could either sprint to the doors or try to do magic. Unfortunately, she did neither. Her brilliant solution was to make a quick dash _further into_ the caves to try and use her magic there, without hurting the contents of the nearest shelves. This, of course, was a predictable thing and the spiders reacted before Anders could even shout a warning or a brief string of expletives about her lack of intelligence, given the situation.

However, even he wasn't expecting the size of the next spider, its aptitude at stealthy movement and the way it reared its legs and struck against Surana with all its force at short range.

The elf was thrown back like a rag doll, bumping her head on the stone to leave a bloody smear. She attempted to scramble back to her feet, despite the brief delirium. The immense spider-thing intended to crawl over her and pin her down, but it was instead knocked away by a frantic burst of magic. The templars managed to draw their swords after a moment or two of being completely useless, but their hack-this slash-that skills were limited when faced with an unexpected opponent so soon. Moreover, they had forgotten the most crucial thing of all; saving someone who was under attack. Though Anders couldn't entirely blame them for reaching for the only thing they understood well.

The clench-jawed Subject A was the first to realize that there was actually someone in need of help around. The fact that it was a mage apprentice he was supposed to help must have confused him. Even then, Anders reacted somewhat quicker, with a fortunate aim and a stun-spell, but it was a sword that managed to hack the creature off Surana.

Spider blood soaked the girl's robes; she was somewhat shocked, but scrambled to her senses with remarkable quickness, especially considering the entrails all around. Still, she was panicking. The way she blasted away the nearest spider almost didn't deter its progress. Not that he was doing much better, though he realized that only when something wet and sticky hit his face rather like a slap.

Anders wiped the liquid with his sleeve and almost wasn't able to rip it off his face. The white substance was somewhere between spit and slime, but its stickiness and origins suggested something much messier.

Further webs shot out of various directions, faster than the five of them can spot them. The templars already had their swords either stuck to their armor or blunted by the spider spit. Surana wasted no time and reacted far quicker than him in this case. The nearest Subject (Anders wasn't really up to distinguishing them shooting small bolts of lightning at the creatures) didn't even have a chance to really be worried when a cold spell hit his sword. That he wasn't even appreciative when the webs froze and partly broke off with the next strike of his sword was just rude.

But the spiders noticed, apparently; this was an entire family, a clan that had probably lain hungry for a while, as there wasn't enough food to go around for them all. A guess would be that the spiders had stolen much of edible supplies of the place, but that was irrelevant now. Another spider pack charged at them with screeching abandon, the largest of them aiming directly for Surana.

The elf saw it and blasted the first one away with a surge of magic. But she didn't have enough time to notice the one straight behind it, ready to take the first one's place. It would have been an intriguing project, to discover the intelligence levels of the creatures, but not when they were staring you in the face with a vicious intent. Surana might have been able to summon up the magic for another spell within the span of a few seconds, but she wasn't quick enough. With the templars busy with the smaller crawlers, the big one was aiming straight for their greatest damage dealer.

Anders saw it; as a former thief, he was obliged to notice things beyond just the tip of his nose. A spider was charging at him as well, but he blasted it quite well. Surana threw herself to the side, avoiding the spider's charge by a manner of inches. Anders tried to incapacitate the thing before it could turn and retaliate, but something snarled nearby. The wet splash of web felt a little different through his robes, but the apprentice could recognize it by now. Especially since his sleeve was now sticking to his body and refused him to allow to lift his arm.

A freeze spell hit his sleeve within an instant; Surana was back on her feet. The three templars were ignoring them for the time being, as they were fighting the bulk of the group with moderate success. But the elf had made a mistake; her shift in focus from her defense to Anders' aid gave the spider all the time it needed to try a different tactic.

The web shot at her wasn't a simple projectile – it was a net, intended to impede movement. She saw it too late; it hit her square in the torso, and the moment she attempted to squirm, it stuck harder than ever before. The spider acted differently this time; instead of trying to come to her, it started pulling the elf towards it while spewing more glue and liquid. Surana's hands flared with magic as she attempted to cut off the web, freeze or even burn it away, no matter what the expense.

"Surana!" Anders managed to temporarily squish the spider closest to him by throwing a heavy cauldron at its head, but his fire spell missed the web, hitting the wall instead.

"Watch out!"

"Cut its legs! Immobilize it!"

The templars finally acted upon the muffed screams the best their respective attackers would allow, but it wasn't quick enough. The thing managed to get Surana within weaving distance and started wrapping its web around the elf, despite the minor burns the elf was still managing to land through her wrapping.

This was the point when Anders stopped caring about restraint. Apprentices their age weren't exactly allowed to participate in combat training, but he was a quick study and had learned much simply by watching others perform magic. The glow from within the Surana-shaped bundle was fading; she was losing not only mana on these weak spells, but air and energy too. Now, Anders held little love for his sometime-classmate and often-annoyance, but in no way did he wish to see her eaten alive by a giant spider.

He started the spell he had learned by accident; the one that exploded with flame, a fireball that would kill the creature. His concentration intense, he didn't even notice when subject A managed to get close to him and grab him by the hand before he could start properly.

"Don't do it!" The templar looked ready to drain his mana without a second of thought, even if this was what could save them. "You could collapse the shelves and set the essences aflame!"

Out of all the times to listen to a Surana-esque thinking, this was the one where someone had to shut the hell up. "Could we focus on the part where a giant spider is trying to tear a girl's flesh off?"

But his scream wasn't that needed; B and C had noticed the dire peril the girl was in and understood what would happen if they didn't help. A single templar would have had trouble, but with one covering the other, C was able to cut the spider's legs and other appendages off, sending it recoiling in pain and fear. B covered him, keeping the spiders at bay while C attempted to grasp the Surana-shaped bundle and lay it on the ground. Seeing this, Anders shrugged the remaining templar off and focused on getting to Surana through the spiders.

He was the only one with any healing training around, after all.


	7. Seven

This storyline is almost finished, so there will be another timeskip soon. Here's to hoping that the rumors are true and DA two will be an Anders-inclusive zone.

**o.O.o**

**Seven**

**o.O.o**

The situation was not getting prettier.

Not that a nest of giant spiders intent of chomping your precious bodyparts off was something Anders would ever have considered a pretty sight, but Surana resembling something best found on a spinning wheel in addition to all that was cause enough for panic. Suffocation wasn't a pretty death, nor an easy one. That was common knowledge.

The fact that he was the only one with the power to stop someone from going through such a terrifying end frightened the mage apprentice. All the templar who had brought Surana to him had managed to do was free her nose from the wrapping – sloppily, but manage it somehow – and then throw himself back into battle with the creatures.

The templars had formed a wall in front of him and Surana, placing the two of them behind a proper line of defense. How long they would last, Anders had no idea – his faith in their abilities was thoroughly limited, nearly minisucle, even – but at least they were able to buy him some time.

Time to see the unmoving nose and hint of blueish lips under the rope-like webs wrapped around his fellow apprentice's head.

Despite her isolationist tendencies, no one could say that Surana wasn't a lively creature. She was always doing something, even when sitting still in classes, if only playing with her quill or flipping through her notes. Seeing her completely motionless was rare and seeing her unguarded was almost unheard of.

Anders could feel the tremors passing through his hands as he ripped through the damaged wrappings. Five minutes. If he remembered correctly, that was the amount of time a body could go without air before giving out. There was also the possibility that the spider had managed to bite her, but Anders preferred not to invent another crisis when one was already in his grasp.

It would explain the quickness with which the elf had gone limp and unconscious, however, aside from the shock.

There was no time for speculation. Clanking sounds and grunts were clashing with shrieks only an animal could produce, but his ears were ringing too loudly to register such things. His memory was good and Anders was a stellar student when he put his mind to it; and here, he had reason to do so.

Thus all that he had ever observed the spirit healers do flashed in front of his eyes in one blurry smear, meaning that it provided him with absolutely no advice at all.

Anders quickly shook it all off and immediately switched to autopilot. Destroying things was much easier than sustaining them and elves were thoroughly different from rats, at least in terms of how they had to be properly healed. But the basics were the same. Lungs, air, refill, force them to sustain it, make the notion automatic.

Being gentle was even more difficult than he imagined. It would have been much easier to virtually kick the reflex back into the motionless body. Magic glowed around his hands, the energy focusing, despite the battle, despite the possibility of imminent death. Push, pull, air.

_Breathe, Andraste's fluffy socks, breathe!_

Awareness of the elf's entire body flooded through his very veins. Her blood pressure was lower than expected and her life signs had plunged beyond the calm that sleep would bring. But there was still some energy flowing through her form and it didn't seem that she was much injured beyond having gone limp.

Now if only her respiratory system would cooperate and start accepting his impulses-

A web shot past him, and it would have definitely splattered him against the wall like a twitching bug. A new spider let out another ear-piercing sound, almost making it through to the mages from another side. Anders, fully focused on the healing, didn't have time to raise his hands and refocus the energy into another form. But he did notice the way the edge of one tendril whipped against his face, strong enough to hurt.

In a truly manly fashion, Anders remained stoic and composed, or so he thought, until the fact that one of the templars clearly came to their defense only due to some kind of outside impetus. So, not a dignified silence, then. Somehow, his ego could deal with it. what he couldn't deal was the fact that all that hacking and slashing and grunting apparently wasn't doing much good against the beasts.

And if there was anything templars were good at, it was those three activities. Preferably combined, order of use unspecified.

Sure enough, the offending arachnid was hacked into itty bitty pieces, with another itsy bitsy spider taking its place.

"Where are they coming from?" On any other day, Anders would have vehemently denied that his voice had made a sound anywhere near a squeak, but maintaining a solid hoarse cry was a difficult thing.

Surana was ashen, barely responding to his ministrations. If, through some mystical connection, he could have drawn any kind of power from her, now would have been the opportune moment. Of course, before the thought actually registered with his mind, the purplish tinge to his patient's visage deepened half a shade and it became abundantly clear that he was on his own for this one.

What a way to bail on the most important part of this little task. He would _so_ have a field day with this once he saved her life and got her out of there.

Their lab rats were holding out, but getting tired. Anders could feel the energies in the air more closely now that his was beginning to be tied to another's.

"You can ask them later!" Subject B had regained his bearings and was once again trying to lead without actually knowing he was doing such a thing. He was more skilled at maneuvering his blade through a spider's head, in which he was succeeding admirably. "Get her out of there!"

Clearly, Anders had been correct in understanding that templars had no concept about what magic actually involved and how important hands were for acting as a vessel for magic when a stronger cipher – such as a uniquely crafted staff – was not available. In any case, it was clear what traits had been on the must-have on a templar's job description and which ones had been thoroughly neglected.

"I could lose her!" And he was still trying to grasp her, so that was completely out of the question.

But while Surana's clock was still ticking, another's started ringing. The onslaught managed to tackle the would-be leader before he could respond to this irrational concern with any proper reprimand, exposing his comrades out of the formation. Another templar grunted in a non-good way, which even non-combat trained mages could very easily recognize. In any case, the clashing sound of armor making impact with a storage cabinet was a dead give-away.

"We have to get help with this!" another male voice shouted, but Anders heard nothing.

He could almost see the soft heartbeat, even though Surana's eyes were still obscured. The smell of blood was thick in the air and a greenish goo was swelling from the holes in the net; something to make the prey relax, no doubt.

"Come on, you're not girly enough to faint on me like this!" the mage began muttering to himself frantically, even though there was no chance of him being heard, let alone getting a response. "You almost freeze me because of a joke and then get taken down without a fight by the itty bitty poison-spitting giant spider?"

There were a dozen biting things that the elf would have said at this point and every single one of them would have been like a sign from the Maker himself. Instead of such a mercy, Anders felt something thin and leathery slam against his body, disrupting the magic and his entire focus.

Pain tasted like metal, or perhaps that was just the buzzing behind his eyes. The magic sizzled and apparently even stung something other than him, but it took the swing of a blade to get through to the creature that its company was unwanted at present.

There were webs all around now, Anders realized, as it took him some effort to free himself from the wall's comfortable support. Only the piercing fear of feeling the flicker of life he still saw fade away made him gather the strength needed to easily rip himself away.

Anders moved to throw himself back at his patient, but collided with cold and surprisingly spiky armor instead. A templar had gotten in his path, attempting to beat down more of the little beasties. There was blood all around, to the point that they were almost swimming in it. Even Surana's white prison now had splotches of liquid all over it.

And perhaps it was the fuzzy colors dancing all around, but some part of him was hoping that he indeed saw Surana stir.

A cold hardness seized him by his upper arm; Anders felt his feet collide with one another and almost cost him more than just his balance. The templars were tired, sloppier than usual; and now, apparently ready to run at the first sign of something beyond their control. How quickly cockiness could evaporate in the face of real danger.

"Bring them back to the tower while we deal with this!"

As if _that _would help, considering how their strategy thus far involved hitting the offending nasties with a pointy stick until a solution presented itself.

Swords were swishing through the air, but it was a dull sting somehow. The spiders had been keeping their distance for the most part and it was finally becoming clear why. They had been herded into a small circle wrapped in webs; their way out was almost completely blocked by that point. With all probability, Anders was the only one who noticed.

"The webs are too thick!"

Somehow, the mage apprentice was thoroughly unsurprised that the giant spiders were at a higher intellectual level than their templar entourage.

But Anders was far beyond caring about this kind of thing. Surana was stirring; just a little, but enough to let him know that there was something there left to save. His magic had been mostly used up for the trivial purpose of either making his boxes larger or now, saving his fellow apprentice's life. Anders had absolutely no qualms about leaving the meat shields to their impromptu fate, but not someone defenseless and trapped.

Not someone he could save. Especially not one of the few people who made his stay in the Tower bearable at this point.

Besides, given how disorienting the continual blows were, with shapes almost swimming in front of his eyes by now, he was liable to trip over Surana's body during his very brave escape attempt. So it was really a question of self-preservation, really.

He barely had the magic to go through with this, but carrying the elf was completely out of the question, so there was no helping it. in order for both of them to walk, it was necessary.

Instead of a stream of energy, it was more akin to a blast. And, truthfully enough, Surana jolted as though she had been shot, no matter how loose or tight her bonds might be. If to him, the sensation was a pure release, the feeling she must have received was worse than a direct hit from a bull on a rampage.

He was knocked down again, mid-lunge.

Anders thought it was just another spider attack – what a weird thing to think, really – but it was a few moments later, his folly became clear. It wasn't an outside impact that had shaken him; no spider could have gotten past the templars woith their current cheap shots.

The ground was shaking.

The tremors started quickly, without warning, but then it seemed as if they had always been there. Anders could almost feel the bones vibrating in his body. He tried to get up at first, but collapsed within an instant. The templars were yelling something, but the words were lost in the intensity of the rocks moving against one another. The shelves around them were vibrating as well, but with most of the objects carefully placed, it didn't seem as though they were going to fall too soon.

It disoriented the spiders, though, sending them into a frenzy as the webs started quivering like a well-tuned instrument. The sound was gaining momentum, like a mighty crescendo. And then, a shrill noise pierced the symphony, along with a splattering sound. At first, it seemed like one of the templars had missed the chance to get someone to fetch his brown pants. But the liquid squirting all around was, well… liquid. Still disgusting, but somehow better.

Before this could register with him, though, he saw the skewered spider.

A stalagmite – or stalactite, he could never tell them apart, not that he listened much in those classes – had sprung from the ground within less than a millionth of what it would actually take for such a thing to form, positioned so conveniently under the largest of the spiders that it pierced through its soft underbelly within an instant.

At first, Anders was stunned, but loud crashing noises gave quick birth to further rock formations. The spiders were being squashed, one by one. But they easily began moving faster when given the chance. The templars, in their clunky armor, were getting in the way. Whatever force was guiding the blows was having some trouble avoiding them.

But it knew exactly where Surana herself was positioned. And so while the tremors continued, the rocks started surfacing closer to the bundle, close enough to make Anders reel back like a cat whose tail had been stomped on.

With the elf's eyes still half-lidded, this would have been a problem. But the magic burst had helped, more than even Anders had anticipated. The stones were sharp, too much so. They were piercing through the webs all around them. No spider could get close enough now.

Of course, it also meant that Anders couldn't get anywhere near the exit, what with the webs and the freaking giant rocks cutting through them in the blink of an eye, not to mention the continual earthquake all around him.

The one attack element that didn't require focus, as it was all around them. A loss of control was the cost. Anders remembered now. Surana had mentioned something about possessing too much power and no control. If she lost power over this spell, whatever she was doing, she could very well collapse the cavern around them.

She needed her eyes back. She needed to see her enemy.

A spider managed to stumble its way towards him; Anders barely saw it. The creature latched onto his leg, attempting to crawl over him. Surprisingly, his first instinct was to kick and try to stumble his way back to Surana. She couldn't get up on her own; she needed help. And if she didn't get it, there was a good chance none of them were leaving the caverns anytime soon.

Templars caught like leaves in a storm, unable to stop it. Creatures heaving in the blaze, caught, trapped.

Anders barely avoided the nearest spike. The next tore his sleeve. But then his hands were filled with the sticky substance of the web as he dragged whatever part of the elf he could grasp to her feet. She, too, was pulsing, but with a tremor only those sensitive to magic could perceive. That made the whole thing slightly more difficult, more so than the jagged rocks trying to destroy everything around them.

But he succeeded, eventually, with all the strength left in him spent.

The elf was even scrawnier than he imagined, with the smell of blood and cold sweat only underlining her resemblance to a street urchin. Anders couldn't grab her arms if he hoped to help her continue casting; the best he could do was allow his arms to form a supporting ring around her waist and hold on.

Essentially, it was the complete opposite of what he remembered from his pickpocketing days, but at least Anders now knew what to do when necessary to support someone this way. With one hand, he managed to remove the remainder of the web covering Surana's face before being forced to frantically hold on to her.

He didn't know how much magic he had managed to give her along with the healing blast. But despite her present limpness, there was a different feel to Surana's stance, feeble as it was. Firmness, strength, and something not quite human or elven or whatever she was playing at.

The spiders were frantic now, seeing that their greatest threat wasn't coming from the spiky knights or the human hiding behind it. Another web hit Surana, but she didn't even try to dodge. The same couldn't be said for him, who dutifully ducked behind her frame and actually managed to hide, even though there was no danger.

She was free and securely on her feet, without even having to focus on simple troubles such as standing.

"Hold on tight." her voice whispered, as if she were the one supporting him instead. But Anders couldn't be certain if the sound was dominating over the echoes only in his head, or if she was really thanking him out loud.

But one thing he finally came to understand, standing in the eye of the storm – here, where he couldn't fall, even as the magic was swirling around him.

The constant lectures Surana always seemed to be getting lectures from Greagoir, despite her apparent excellent mage-slave conduct and subservient attitude to the First Enchanter.

No wonder she wasn't able to heal; her magic was a volatile whirlwind of elemental power, making her control over it appear nothing less than a miracle. But it wasn't nearly as rigid a grip as Anders remembered. With time, she had learned how to not let the massive surge of energy simply pass through her; now, she could direct it, harness it and even mostly control it, apparently.

Only this time, she wasn't endangering the contents of the storage caverns with fire and ice, nor attempting the apparently morbid branch of magic that she was supposed to be proficient at. The templars could sense it, but not see it, not really. They only saw the physical manifestation of what Anders was holding onto.

He saw the very earth rippling beneath the elf's feet, like water, like raw mana. And then, as if it had no true substance, it lashed out, hurled by an enraged mage's will, and struck the nearest spider with a force far greater than the elf's small body could physically produce. The creature next to it avoided the worst of the blast and attempted to divert all of its attention to Surana – and all of its web, since the elf was still covered in it in places.

This time, Surana was ready for it.

The web froze into solid stone in mid-air, and, as the magic moved forward, so did the rest of the spider. The petrified creature managed to frighten the rest of them, but this served only to enrage the horde. And then, Surana, covered in web and dirt and radiating rage, sent forth a surge of concentrated magic – a pellet, really, no more – at the creature.

As the tiny sphere hit the creature, it shattered. As in, broke into pieces and collapsed like that flimsy ancient vase on the third floor when he tried to see if there was anything in it.

Some of the creatures – the ones who could still walk on all their legs – made a frantic move to start retreating. Those who lacked the understanding of the dangerous threat before them weren't nearly so fortunate. The elf wasn't fast enough to deal with all of them, nor did she have the strength to do it now. But the spiders didn't know that.

It took Anders all this time to realize that only the ground around them was not trembling like the rest of the cavern. But that was only because that comfort was stopping; the shaking was starting, even nearby. Surana was giving it her all, but that meant more power than she was capable of controlling. She couldn't do this for much longer.

She didn't have to.

By the time Surana went almost limp in his arms, the cavern had been transformed. The cleanly carved walls were now littered with jagged rocks sticking out at nearly unnatural angles, like fingers growing out of the center of a palm. The spiders around them had colored the walls in sickly shades and managed to neatly turn the blue of apprentice robes into grey and puce.

Anders didn't like puce. Something about the color just rubbed him the wrong way. He could only barely make out the color of Surana's hair under the grime and webs. Feral was the word Anders would have used to describe her now, had his vocabulary been up to the task of piercing his currently numb mind. His classmate, the bossy-voiced, sneering bookworm who sat alone by choice as much as by collective vote, had just slain several spiders as tall as her.

And she was almost out again.

This time, it took most of his strength to support her, as if he too had been drained of most of his magic.

"Surana! Hey, come on, don't go swooning princess on me now…"

But once he managed to turn the elf around (a surprisingly easy task, with her being about as resistant as a mabari to treats), he saw a weary smirk dying on her blood-free lips.

"Why, Anders, I didn't know you cared." she wheezed out, coughing a little. According to his count, this was approximately the second time she had used his name without connecting some unflattering term to it.

The templars had started moving, too; Anders noticed that only after the reemergence of muttered prayers. Or perhaps they just decided that their armor might rust if they didn't move soon. Or possibly one of those spikes had pierced a sensitive spot – it was possible that Surana just wasn't aware such parts existed and managed to be less than entirely precise in her attacks.

But no, the squeaks receded into standard litanies of horror at what magic could do, without any kind of falsetto. He was almost disappointed.

The first tin man was starting to come around. They were all in various stages of being splattered with guts and bore some marks of struggle, but nowhere near the state of his classmate.

"How did you- How…?"

Considering his would-be superior was thoroughly incapacitated now, Anders didn't bother hiding his eyeroll in the slightest. However, this time, it was more than simple sarcasm; stronger than annoyance, even. The Chantry had sent them frightened children and he wasn't certain that was a good thing.

"Magic, oh genius." He didn't even glance at the useless knights; it wasn't as if they could actually do anything. "You might want to start getting used to it."

Anders lowered the elf to one of the few spots that wasn't destroyed by the whole incident. She looked in dire need of a bed, at the very least. All three templars were getting back to their feet, slowly. A piece of spider intestine slid down the morose looking one's cuirass; on any other day, the sight would have been downright hilarious.

The fascinating thing was the way they were attempting to cope with what had just happened; ignoring everything unnatural around them, the spider corpses, the jagged spikes.

"I think we should be safe now."

"Safe? Can you even-?"

Except of course the magic that had saved their pathetic lives, because _that_ was incidental, naturally. Because nothing good could come of magic, as their continued existence was proving.

"Enough, Alouarn." Subject B was saying, his voice sepulchral. "You show disrespect to one who saved us."

"I get the impression that it was incidental."

Anders wanted to throw something, but decided quickly that it would be a waste of a perfectly good object. And then the remaining templar was approaching warily, as if either mage had the plague and he could very easily be infected. Still, it was concern of some kind.

"Is she…?"

"Exhaustion, otherwise fine." Anders snapped automatically. He was babbling, curtly, though. As he continued hacking off the web from Surana's body, he managed to find the poison injection spot. He doubted it was anything fatal, but then again, he remembered reading something about spiders who melted their prey from the inside through poison to enable easier digestion… no. "She needs a healer. Probably soon."

"Can't you do something? This wound… it looks like it needs attention."

Oh, suddenly, he was travelling with the templar field paramedic team. That was just great.

"It's fine, we just need to get her back to the tower. Surana." The elf's head was wobbling to the side a little bit, her eyes slightly unfocused. Or so he thought he saw, under all that grime. "Surana, look at me!"

A weary eye blinked up at him, allowing a familiar nagging voice to briefly rasp in response. "Do I have to?"

Good enough for him.

"You're like a cockroach with superpowers." Anders grinned, making sure it wasn't as shaky as he felt. He didn't have much left in him; in fact, he was rather certain that Surana had employed some of his strength to fuel her attacks. But this needed immediate attention and he… once again was the only one who could do so. "I can do this. I can… I'll do something." He wasn't sure if he was telling Surana, the templars or himself this. "Get them here."

He could do something, of course, but even someone as cocky as Anders knew his limits.

"Get who?"

"Someone with more mana than I have, just go!" A healer, preferably, but he couldn't expect the templars to be able to get someone competent. Hell, he'd be impressed if they managed to find a competent mage. But even Irving would have been a welcome face at this point. "Or can't you follow simple instruction?"

"You know you can't do anything." C the paramedic was certainly starting to get on his nerves now, especially because he was completely right. "You have next to nothing left."

"Well, aren't you the expert on useless trivia? She needs help right now and I'm not having you tinheads mess it up. You can walk; she can't. Now start walking."

"I'm supposed to be in charge here." Surana croaked, with her usual eloquence as Anders meticulously ignored the glares sent in his direction. There went the possibility of him befriending the idiots. He waved at it internally as it passed by, not at all sorry to see it go.

"You're in charge of not being a total wuss and chickening on me now." he said it with more authority than he felt. Standing up to someone who was barely conscious was surprisingly easy. It even somehow helped make bossing templars around much easier, if not more fun. "Fifth floor, just follow your noses. Not like that would be hard to miss." he added in a barely disguised mutter.

He was pretty certain that nothing could make seeing Belligerent B trip over a barely visible stalactite less enjoyable, however.


	8. Eight

This is very likely the last update before I drop into a DA2-related coma, meaning that I tried to make it as good as possible. It's a little more friendship focused than the previous ones; now that the combat is over, it's more bonding time, of course. Or at least this storyline needs to be wrapped up before the next timeskip, which will take place in chapter eight.

And as for DA2 having Anders in it – I totally called it. He was just too damned awesome to be left alone after Awakening. Though I'll miss Ser Pounce-A-Lot. And this fic will continue, involving Awakening and possibly DA2 as well!

**o.O.o**

**Eight**

**o.O.o**

Anders imagined that spider webs and paralysis did little to improve anyone's appearance much, but even such an unorthodox beauty routine didn't do much to improve – or mar, at this point – his patient's appearance. There were still webs around, dried blood and other goo, of course. That didn't help at all. However, he was not the kind of person to be easily distracted when the nasties that had produced such things weren't alive anymore.

Speaking of that, he should hurry. Those things could easily turn fragrant at any moment and there were certain things in the world that even he didn't want to experience. In fact, the smell of spider carcasses might even make his bottom ten on the list. Thanks to his remarkable prowess – at least he thought so – it was likely he wouldn't have to.

"Can you move your limbs yet?" He had no magic left, so Anders had to remove some of the non-sticky webs himself, but Anders was also referring to the fatigue of magic and stress that had rendered her all-but a heap of limbs before.

Even with her own magic depleted, the elf seemed to have some kind of affinity for ice spells. "I can move just fine, dimwit. That I don't want to is another thing."

In the heat of battle and the resulting frantic healing process, Anders had almost entirely forgotten that Surana's freakish powers were only matched by her capacity to be a phenomenal annoyance. But here, he was the one with the power – Surana could only talk, while he could move, act, and his brain was far less mushy than hers at this point.

He hoped.

And so, he had the right – no, the privilege! – of utilizing the dreaded weapon of his index finger being wagged back and forth in front of the elf's face.

"No, no, no! You're going about this completely wrong! You're the patient and there are specific rules regarding your behavior as one." Surana blinked, but wasn't grumbling yet, so Anders seized his chance to explain. "The patient doesn't protest, or sneer, or make sarcastic quips in the healer's face. She lies mostly motionlessly with a pained expression and occasionally makes strangled sounds of discomfort at appropriate moments!"

He didn't say such a thing on purpose, for certain, but the fact that the elf's face turned a little healthier, regained a little color, meant that unfortunately, his brain was still the one a bit more jellified at this moment. Or perhaps it just didn't have the ability to run quickly enough to catch up with his mouth; very few could boast that they possessed such velocity, though, so it really wasn't the brain's failing in this case.

"You've really thought this through, haven't you?" Surana's voice was even, but the tremor of nausea was still hunted at in the background. Of course Anders wouldn't have pegged her for a free spirit, but at least the fit of maidenly panic had apparently been overcome. "I think I kind of get where you have the description from, though."

Whoever claimed that shock therapy wasn't a good learning method had obviously not met this enfant terrible.

But there was something he had come to do – something he had tried to do before being drafted into this insane and surprisingly tedious group – and this time, he could say it in earnest. Surana had saved all their lives, or at least all of their limbs back there. Thanking her for that might be too much to handle, but there was one other thing that needed clarification.

"Look, for what it's worth… I'm sorry about that." Anders sighed. She hadn't given him even the benefit of doubt previously and, if only for that, he was somewhat miffed. "I didn't – well, that is to say, I meant to, but… I'm just digging myself deeper, aren't I?" he asked, watching the slow rise of the elf's eyebrows.

"It would sort of seem that way." she said, with great restraint for someone so eager to express her opinions.

"Right. Well… I certainly didn't intend for you to see that. Believe it or not it was not on my list of to-do things for today. Ever, in fact. Believe it or not, my attention-seeking nature isn't entirely exhibitionist."

Surana's robe had resurfaced, a mass of blue splotched with puce in places. "I find that hard to believe. You strike me as the sort of guy who wouldn't shy away from inviting the whole tower to a show if it meant getting first crack at the Sunday deserts."

Considering the fact that Sunday was the only day when it seemed like any of the cooks were truly making an effort to produce food, not some substance that tried to be it but came just short of it, that was a valid argument.

"Point." Anders conceded, but refused to get off track. "But anyway, I intend to make sure this doesn't happen again. To the best of my ability, anyway."

"By hanging a sign?" Obviously, Surana wasn't reassured. Her mastery of the art of dead pan was improving, though.

Anders couldn't help but chuckle at that. It was the combination of innocent inquisitiveness and jaded suggestion that did it for him. "Now there's an idea! But no, I wouldn't say that. I think I know enough about women now to be a selective connoisseur. Meaning that I shall strive for quality instead of quantity… if only to have the supply this place has to offer last longer."

Surana looked less impressed with this lofty aim than he was, which meant that all her muscle control was completely back.

"Truly, a goal worth striving for. It's nice to say I've been right about everything I ever said about you." she added, a little more to herself than to him.

Anders would have been mildly curious about the amount and content of those things at a different time, but somehow, he restrained himself.

"See? Self-satisfaction for you; posh standards for me. Everybody wins."

Including the templars, who burst into the cavern without pomp, just eager to scurry away from the trajectory of their leader's heavy boots. They had come just late enough to be completely useless, and, as far as Anders could see, hadn't actually brought any healers. It would have been kind to say that they had simply gotten lost or that the Knight-Commander had accosted them on the way and demanded answers, but that would be giving too much credit to their ability to actually think. More likely, they hadn't been able to comprehend the horrible notion of actually approaching a Harrowed mage for help and ran automatically to their safety blanket.

A safety blanket with a large sword, a small capacity for nonsense, and a distinctly non-comforting expression.

"What in the name of the Maker has happened here?" The Knight-Commander wasn't the type of man to roar in anger, let alone do something as plebian as yell. He was more of a cold, quiet rage type of person that gave you a _look_ that made you want to hide in a nice warm box and never crawl out. Right now, he didn't so much resemble a deeply irritated lion as much as an egocentric hedgehog that had spotted its first porcupine. "Usage of combat magic without supervision; destruction of Circle property… which one of you has-?"

Right on cue, though, the odor Anders had tried to avoid managed to spread lazily through the caverns. One of the templar posse, still not so used to the various smells and stenches of the tower, managed to be sensitive enough to pick up on it – a wonder, truly – and follow it quickly enough to manage a gasp.

"Ser, there are carcasses here! Spiders… dear Maker!"

The Knight-Commander cast the cadavers a stern glance, as if he saw such things every day. There was no doubt that, had the spiders been alive at this point, they would have reconsidered their attack and scurry off back into their webs. Even stiff and cold as they were now – what was left of them anyway – Anders didn't really think they were ruling out the option that retreat might still be their best option.

"What have you done here, apprentice?" Just like that, the two iron pokers were boring into him once again, at rather uncomfortable angles. Bizarre as that mental image was, being under the Knight-Commander's personal scrutiny was nothing to sneer at. "And Surana- what is the meaning of this?"

The elf actually winced when the templars' leader turned his state-of-the-art glare at her. as far as anyone in the Tower knew, there were only two people that could truly subdue Surana. The first of these was obviously efficient in a very direct, face-to-face way. Speechless and fish-mouthed was a good look for Surana, with the contrast between the wheels turning behind her eyes and the obvious jams in the sequence. Nevertheless, they weren't on equal footing now, so seeing her humiliated well and proper wouldn't bring him any kind of satisfaction or use.

"Are you just going to stand there and look useless or will you help me heal her?" Anders demanded, glossing over the ridiculousness of that statement somewhere along the line. He hadn't managed to get the venom or toxin or whatever it was out of her and there was no telling what blood was hers.

"You – get me a qualified healer here." Though their leader must have certainly barked at one of them in particular, all of the templars jumped, quaking in their little metal boots. At least one of them did scurry off, though. Anders was just about to make a mental note that he should practice his own level of menace if that was what it took to make templars obey him when he was once again in the dull grey spotlight. "Don't think that your barbed tongue will help you slither out of this yet, apprentice."

Instead of his managing to get some pointers about menacing others, Anders was getting a proper first-hand experience of how Surana had to feel whenever her particular brand of self-righteousness was swiftly silenced. However, he didn't have the good sense of knowing when to back down that only came with practice.

"_Me_?" he blurted out, managing to get over his momentary stuttering fit. "I helped _save_ your poncy girlies over there from the big bad bugs!"

Said girlies awarded him with much weaker versions of their mother hen's entirely too effective glare. It might have been more effective if they weren't doing it from behind the Knight-Commander's back, which said a lot about them. Nevertheless, there would be hell to pay for this transgression later on, as the saner templars had long memories. But at that point, it was a risk worth taking.

"Two untried apprentices attempting to play hero against magical creatures!" Unfortunately, his opponent wasn't in the business of agreeing with others. Anders had to give the man credit, though – he certainly knew his craft. He even made a wielder of smart-mouthed authority-defiance like him gulp once or twice and recoil just a few inches. "Give me a single reason why you didn't return to the Tower and leave this situation to the appropriate people?"

"Those things didn't exactly give us a catalogue of attack modes to choose from!" Had the templar-in-chief seen what a brave front his men had put on and the way the two of them had had to do whatever was possible to solve things…

He might not have sharpened those pokers and stuck them at even more unnatural angles into his very intestines, for example.

"You insolent-!"

"Greagoir." A woman's voice interjected before he could really get going, but Anders didn't know whether to be grateful or rue the fact that it would allow that ill-directed bad emotions to fester and eventually spill. Red robes swished around Anders's ears and, before he realized it, he was already being scrutinized by a faint buzz of magic. "Your new templars have sustained some light injuries, but these apprentices might still be in danger."

"Obviously not under the imminent sort, if they have enough strength for insolence." But he wasn't biting back, which was downright unsettling. That someone so pleasant looking… but Anders knew better than to judge by appearance, being a frequent user of the puppy eye technique in his earlier years. And no one could completely subdue the commander of the templars, as the finger pointed into Anders's face could testify to. "It isn't over, apprentice. I expect an explanation of the mess you've made."

The Senior Enchanter was at his side, then, observing the damage done. Her face was lined with age, invitingly motherly and dominated by sharp blue eyes.

"So, I presume this is your doing?" she asked, briskly but not unkindly. If there ever was a middle path between the intimidation of the Knight-Commander and Irving's (to him) somehow fake earnest kindness, this woman would be it. In fact, if the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander had a child-

Best stop that thought right there, Anders decided, as he was already getting a slightly funny look directed at him. His cheeks felt a little warmer for some reason, too.

"I didn't- oh." She meant Surana, not the spikes. In the meantime, it turned out that the templars much more easily obeyed someone they didn't so much fear, as one of the less-injured Subjects – C, was it? Anders wasn't sure at this point, his vision was getting a little fuzzy – had picked her up as if she might bite and proceeded to carefully carry her out of the caverns. Surana didn't even protest, which said much of her exhaustion. "Well, I tried. Not so bad for a first – well, second – attempt." He wasn't entirely sure the rat counted.

"We'll need to take a closer look at that. Now, show some sympathy for an old woman's worsening eyesight and come out of here to the light."

**o.O.o**

"What you did in there was a very brave thing, if not at all wise. You could have been seriously hurt."

The old biddy's eyes were apparently much sharper than she gave them credit for, Anders grudgingly conceded. He had been completely healed, to the point that he thought he was channeling energy he had never before possessed. Were the situation not so peculiar, he would have likely paid much closer attention to a skilled healer at work, but he had been still seething that blame was about to be dumped on him and Surana, as opposed to Surana alone or, better yet, the templars. After all, slaying things was their job, so it wasn't a mage's fault that someone had failed to teach them which side of the sword was pointy.

Of course no one was going to listen to him, though. Lucky midget, that Surana. Her acute state had caused everyone else to overlook the fact that she was the only one with the power and freakish skill at magic cultivated by an intense proximity to all kinds of old books to be able to wreak havoc on that scale. The templars had carried her away to the healing quarters and once his own attendant – hah – was done with him, she had moved on to the elf, assuring him gently that his friend – double hah – would be all right and that worrying would do no good.

He hadn't been worried before message came via Subject C, now devoid of an elf in his machine-like arms, that he was expected in the First Enchanter's office. The templar looked much better now, much to Anders's annoyance; as if he were allergic to elves, or something. Or females, more likely. That theory cheered the apprentice up a little as he headed towards the dreaded dungeon that was Irving's office.

And so there he was now, seated in front of the man himself. Irving bothered Anders. Maybe it was the beard – what was up with that, really? There was a difference between stylish stubble (which he was close to having) and a live creature clinging to your chin with its hairy appendages – but, first and foremost, it was the attitude. While many things could be said about the man, Anders couldn't deny – well, he could, but only in small grumbles – that the man was seriously powerful. Hell, he was even intelligent, which was a rare commodity even in this Tower. But he didn't _do_ anything, really. He was the mediator, not the revolutionary. It was sort of like being admitted into the Grey Wardens and then told that your duty involved rescuing kittens from trees and occasionally helping old ladies carry their food from the market. It just wasn't something you could truly believe in.

However, he still had the powers of Gentle Scolding at his disposal, which was a fearsome weapon indeed. And Anders, defiant and rebellious as he considered himself, prided himself in his ability to Talk Back to Authority.

"Hey, it was Surana who managed all the rush-into-danger things, I kept my nose clean and everything!" Or whatever old folks said nowadays; he wasn't entirely fluent in their language and the streets still had a small mark on him. After all, it hadn't been that long since his tenure as toll collector for the Stupidity Tax.

Irving, however, was different from most of the older mages in the Tower – one of the reasons he was First Enchanter was likely his ability to decipher through excuses such as these. He had clearly seen the entire situation before, so he hadn't bothered to ask for any information.

"After your attempt to heal her, did you start feeling weaker?" Anders was silent. He hadn't told anyone of this, not even the senior healer. Of course his strength had left him, but only now did he realize that it had begun during the healing – most likely when he had desperately jolted Surana awake with his magic. His lack of response seemed to be all the answer Irving truly needed, though. "You have never attempted a spell of this magnitude before, so the sensations were different… but you must have also felt physically tired. The templars also mentioned that you had to hold her to get her to her feet."

"Isn't that a natural consequence of healing? And near death experiences?" A bit of an exaggeration, that, he supposed, but the best defense, in his experience, was always a swift attack. To that end, Anders smirked a little, a braver gesture than he actually felt like. "I imagine you'd know."

"More than you might wish to hear." Irving chuckled. So a direct strike did nothing to faze him, huh. Tough old bastard. Then again, that was probably to be expected. "But it seems that you are familiar with the sensation. The healing magic started it, but it increased when you made her stand."

"Might have. She might look tiny, but the elf's one wiry midget." He couldn't exactly call Surana fat; if she were any scrawnier, there wouldn't be anything left of her. fortunately, her many other unflattering qualities made up for it, like the fact that this time, he was actually telling the truth – if the elf got a grip on your fingers, you'd better watch out. "Plus, I think those spiders might have been feeding off whatever you put into those potions, giving their webs an extra stickiness."

Anders was slowly figuring out the reason for his belligerence now; he blamed Irving for this incident, just a little bit. After all, wasn't it the responsibility of his people to make sure this kind of thing didn't happen?

Greybeard Greenrobes entwined his fingers, leaning forward in his chair a little bit. So the blame was being glossed over, then. "I would advise you not to mention the experience to anyone. You were most fortunate to only be fatigued. I imagine your own remarkable magical strength saved your life."

"No surprises there." It didn't sound like a compliment to him, though. No smiles or winks or anything – not that Anders was fishing for any, of course. "Why can't I tell anyone? I mean, the Tower will be buzzing with rumors and news anyway, I might as well take some credit for it."

"Oh, I have no doubt that there will be mutterings. Greagoir might run a tight ship, but the young templars will try to make themselves appear more heroic than they were, certainly." In fact, it was probably one of the more exciting things happening in the Tower in the entire year, but Anders didn't want to brag. However, Irving seemed to have something specific in mind. "You are free to speak of that. My meaning is that you are not tp describe your healing process to anyone. It would cause trouble for more than just yourself."

"Trouble? I saved her life there!" Anders blurted out, exaggerating a little himself. But that was not the point! The point was that he had helped, rescued the damsel in distress (after she had saved them, but that wasn't worth mentioning) and was generally a most amazing guy. There were swooning females to gain out of this, and he wasn't about to let that one go so easily. "Not worth much, granted, but some credit at-"

"It could have killed you."

Anders had to stop his tirade to hear this one, because it felt like a slap to the face with an iron gauntlet. "It? The healing? You mean _that_'swhy no one really wants to be a Spirit Healer?" For a moment, everything made sense.

But Irving chuckled, ruining the grand revelation for him. "Maker, no, not at all. The healing magic established the initial link, perhaps, but the rest of it… you should know, if only to be cautious in the future." he conceded, which was probably more than he had intended to reveal in the first place.

One thing was clear to Anders immediately, though, no explanation required.

"I have no intention of volunteering for any more strange errands. I got roped along for this one anyway."

Judging by the irritating know-it-all smile that surfaced in response to this defiance, Anders wasn't entirely certain he wanted to learn the reasoning behind it. "I am glad that you and young Surana seem to be getting along quite well."

Bingo.

Anders didn't really get what diabolical master plan these words might have contained within them, because there was obviously a hidden meaning somewhere between the syllables. If pressed, he would concede that for two people who would very probably have bitten each other's heads off if societal conventions allowed such a thing to go unpunished, the two of them could work well together under pressure. However, he would also point out that not having someone die on his watch was rather different from actually getting along well with them.

"It has been quite some time since she has had anything resembling a new friend. I am glad for you both. She has had trouble learning to trust humans in any capacity, more so than most elves we receive here. I believe you both hail from Denerim's poorer districts."

"That's about everything we have in common."

"I would not go so far as to say that." The smile was really beginning to irritate Anders, especially the challenge he thought he saw behind it. "But there is a difference between your abilities, the nature of your magic. The healing you performed – which was not a bad attempt for your second try at it, I believe – is something she would have great trouble doing." Echoed words, the bastard. He was much craftier than he looked. Again, naturally. "However, what she almost did to you is a rare and unfortunate talent."

"Discrimination against an element? I thought mages weren't supposed to be anti-earth, no matter what we do with lyrium to attempt to substitute it."

"I believe you noticed quite well by now that her magic is very particular." He was being ignored – _ignored!_ Anders would have left in a huff, but it was too interesting to hear actual explanations. Few truly explained things in the Tower; everything was up to interpretation, really. And there was no way the elf herself would ever actually ever say anything like this. In fact, perhaps she didn't really understand herself. "Surana is powerful; perhaps too much so. A bright flame always attracts the most pests, unfortunately. But in her state, she reached out for more power than she could grasp. In this way, she exploited the flow of your healing magic and started drawing on yours."

"That sounds like-" Anders stopped before the words came out of his moth. He was pretty certain his blood hadn't been at all spilled during the assault and whatever wounds Surana had sustained hadn't flared up in red ribbons or anything like that.

"It would be going too far to suggest such a thing." That was a warning as well as an order, which showed just how uncomfortable the subject was. It was also a threat, in a way, and it was very well noted. No one was to endanger her by asking about the similarities to- "What she did was instinct rather than intent, but that does not disguise the fact that you could have been killed. She had only started drawing on your life force."

"So… it wasn't something she wanted to do." Anders tried to clarify this for himself. The elf might not like him, but it wasn't as if she consciously wanted to kill him or anything… right? "The spells started drawing on both of our mana and- wait, how did she do that? Magic doesn't- that should be impossible!"

"You'd be surprised how many things that fall into that category were never told of their membership." The First Enchanter was obviously having a capital time at his expense, or at the expense of inexperience in general. Enjoyment was part of the job, clearly, which was another reason for resentment on Anders's part. "Surana has the potential to be a most excellent mage. With training, her impulses can be properly channeled and utilized in a different manner."

Aside from an apprentice, Surana was a resource here. They all were, really, but the elf was the first in line for a highly-coveted prize.

"You want to make her your successor." For the first time, Irving actually looked surprised at the turn this conversation was taking. Anders had to grin incredulously. "Oh, come on, anyone in the tower can tell you the same thing. You're not exactly making it the greatest secret in the world."

"I never saw the point of such things, but that doesn't mean she doesn't need more attention than most apprentices."

"Well, just so you know, I'm not interested in playing second banana to wonder girl." Anders proclaimed to the world in general. Authority made his nose itch and twitch, which wasn't a very pleasant sensation. But he wasn't going to be Number Two – it was just an insult to his manly pride. "I'm not after her position in this tower, such a prize as it is. And I wouldn't make a good sidekick. I'm more of a solo performer when I deal with stand-up comedy."

Unsurprisingly at this point, Irving didn't seem too bothered by this and didn't restrain his smile. However, he did draw a paper or two, readied his quill and ink, and proceeded to write something in elegant, curvy script while speaking to the continually-Defiant Anders.

"Ah, the individualism of youth. With all the stubbornness, brash words and leaping without thinking it involves. You will be pleased to know that for once, such qualities will not go unrewarded." It sounded too promising to be true, so Anders didn't really try to get his hopes up. However, hope perked up a little. "One of our senior enchanters opened a new class for talented mages and apprentices wanting to hone their healing skills. You will be attending this class from now on as part of your studies." More studying did not qualify as a reward, but it was doubtful that anyone would be able to convince someone who thought themselves a teacher of that. Sadists, all of them. Especially the ones with frilly handwriting. "I think you will find it much to your liking; especially as there will not be a great number of other students. Wynne usually teaches the older apprentices, as her techniques require a deft touch that must be learned with practice."

Anders took the paper grudgingly, lest it be waved in front of his face like a taunt. Then, a thing occurred to him. "Is Surana in the class?"

That Irving didn't look surprised by his question and that it seemed to confirm to him that he was right in some way was an irritation he was required to suffer in payment for his answer.

"No. You knew this quite well before even asking."

Well, didn't _that_ make him feel special?

On second thought, it really, _really_ didn't.


	9. Nine

The exams have finally ended and my muse for this story has returned, meaning that it gets updated once again! Timeskip once again, two years forward – Anders is eighteen, Surana is sixteen.

**o.O.o**

**Nine**

**o.O.o**

One would think that a test called "the Harrowing" wouldn't involve quite so much running around.

Seriously, facing a demon, he would have no problem with, Anders huffed to himself, more confident than he would have felt otherwise. In his dreams, he slew quite a lot of them, and with the foolish confidence of eighteen years of age, he was ready to take on anything and anyone. Let the abominations come! After all, he faced Senior Torrin's morning breath on a daily basis, and that was truly a force to be reckoned with. What demon could compare to it?

Of course, this was at peak operating capacity, or when he had drunk just a little too much cranberry juice. There had to be something in the stuff – he wouldn't put it past the Tranquil to actually switch it for wine or some other substance when no one was looking. They were too static, too motionless, too… _tranquil_ to not actually be giggling at the rest of them whenever no one else was looking.

Hells, they probably swapped morning coffee for the Senior Enchanters just for giggles.

But that was getting away from the point. The point was that the Fade was too blurry for too much physical activity and he was starting to get just a touch dizzy around the eyeball region. He had been around for hours, walking around, without any clear aim.

As was apparently tradition, there was the whole awakening at midnight thing, being dragged into the Harrowing Chamber and being forced to ingest copious amounts of lyrium. That, of course, felt like a whack to the head and while one wondered if this was what a hangover might feel like. And that was when the truly trippy stuff started happening…

Not that Anders had any basis for comparison, or so he hoped. He had attempted to try some intoxicant during his wild youth on the streets, but it hadn't served him at all well, as far as he knew.

Thus far, he had seen a tree growing out of the sky, several mice who appeared to be floating in mid-air and playing with a hedgehog-shaped ball and several wisps that were trying to synchronize their blinking lights, like deranged fireflies.

In short, the Fade really wasn't living up to its terrifying storybook portrayal.

It was that when came across a more familiar and much more disturbing apparition, which was in an entirely too horrifying to describe.

"You're late." It said, even with the proper voice and mannerisms. So perhaps it actually might be…

"Surana?" It looked like her, straight down to the stupid little ribbon thing she had taken to wearing. "You're taking the- no. Greagoir would sooner eat his helmet than allow a Harrowing this soon. You're not Surana."

The thing tilted its head, not even flickering in its impression "Such little faith. You think you aren't here before your time? You're no smaller a thorn in his side than me, remember?"

"Okay, point taken." Still, he didn't really believe such little rambling was a sign of true midget-ness in this particular case. "Tell me something only the real Surana would know, then!"

The apparition blinked, quite unfamiliar with such requests. "What should I say?"

Anders scratched his chin thoughtfully, though he had indeed already gotten his answer. The question now was whence this image of Surana had come, rather than if it was actually her.

"Like… are you always so frigid on purpose or did you really sit on a staff once and get it lodged somewhere painful for years?"

This was the point when the usual Surana wouldn't have simply frowned in a rather empty fashion – or, rather, mimicked the motions that made up a frown with as little lifelike characteristics to them as possible. "I don't understand your point."

"Close, but not quite. Word of advice; when trying to pass for a human in front of others, don't pick a human they know." Anders suggested, circling the little wraithling. "It just leads to embarrassment on both sides."

"Please wait. I am not the one who intends to slay you. I would learn from you, if I can." One had to give the thing credit for persistence, if nothing else. That introduction alone was enough to do a double take and stop in his tracks.

"Learn? From me?" he repeated incredulously. It was such an anti-Surana thing to do that Anders wanted to commit it completely to memory if he couldn't draw a picture or something in the meantime. "First of all, I'm not qualified to teach anyone and hopefully won't ever have to. Secondly, did I hear you correctly?"

"I am called Echo." And, apparently, comprehending human thought processes wasn't one of its primary powers. Still, it managed to move its faux hand around relatively well, pointing around at the face it was mimicking. "This one whose skin I wear… she… leaves a similar imprint. I can feel the whisper along my fingers when she comes here. I would learn more about her."

That, however, was the one thing Anders would have preferred to leave out of this little dominance fantasy – a role reversal.

"You mean to tell me that even my Harrowing is hijacked by the awesomeness of Wonder Midget and her Specialness? No, thank you. Wait for her turn, send her a love letter, I don't care."

"You don't care about the danger she faces?" Again, Anders stopped due to prideful pigheadedness – things were getting just a touch too ridiculous.

"I care about the distinct lack of attention being paid to me at the moment!" Seriously, wasn't he good enough for the Fade demons? What if these things asked for a refund instead of trying to tempt him to the dark side? He had to check. "Aren't you supposed to be trying to tempt me to sell my soul or sign some kind of deal in which you offer me two hundred beautiful maidens in exchange for a free ride in my corpse?"

"You speak of demons." Finally, the spirit's tone became a bit colored by something resembling emotion. "I am no demon."

This would be one of those things that weren't usually taught in classes. Though Wynne might have mentioned it once or twice. Still, Anders usually made a point of pretending not to listen. "Personally, I can't really tell the difference, so let's leave it at that."

"I am no demon. But they can hear it too. They can hear you, even contained in this portion of the Fade."

"See, this is the kind of information that would have been very helpful at the start. Why don't you teach apprentices at the Tower? We could have tours of the Fade, courtesy of Echo. Echo Tours. Or something like that. It would make a killing for the both of us!"

He could make a guidebook! It would sell so well in the Tower and get him all the chocolate fudge he could ever want!

"I am not interested in taking lives." First note of the guidebook – spirits have selective hearing. "It is their song that resonates through me. So different from what I hear through the dream and the shade."

"How d'you know what Surana looks like, anyway? You haven't met her, from what I gather from your mumbo-jumbo."

"She echoes through you. You are her mate?"

And they have a wild imagination, too, Anders noted when he finally overcame his psychosomatic gag reflex.

"Whoa, now there's a mental image I didn't need. That means no." he clarified, just in case this was an unclear point for the creature.

"The residue is still strong." Anders really wasn't certain this meant this thing got the point, but he sort of hoped he could make it clear. "Like whispers in the wind."

"Uh-huh. Does the wind tell you where I might find this demon that I'm supposed to resist?" Because, really, aside from the ball-playing frogs, he hadn't seen anything vaguely threatening so far.

"What do you know of resisting? You, who plunge into temptation like a second skin?"

Did his senses detect an intentional innuendo there or was it just wishful thinking? "What would you know about any plunges of mine?"

"The echo… it goes both ways." the spirit scrunched up its eyes, looking a little more translucent and yet a little more solid. "I can see a bit of her through you… and a bit of you through that small window. Just a touch… an impression."

"Well, as long as this demon doesn't offer nubile young women or copious amounts of brownies, I believe I should be all right."

"And if it does?" No innuendos, then. No sense of humor or personality, either. Still, Anders had a solution for his problems.

"Does your repertoire of Surana impressions involve her disapproving face?" The one that went completely blank and yet thoroughly irked. "That might help."

In the end, it turned out that the ball-playing mice were in cahoots with the sloth demon living in the paradoxical tree. Fortunately, all that guy was offering was softer pillows and longer naps, if Anders understood it correctly.

And then, he was waking up in a far too brightly lit room with what had to be the most accurate impression of a hangover known to man or midget without there being any actual alcohol involved. That was quite a feat.

Apparently, he wasn't even going to be given the opportunity to be oohed over by awestruck apprentices. Anders found himself being looked after by exactly one spectator, which wasn't exactly the triumphant return he had planned. Better than the humiliation of being carried around by members of the almost exclusively male templar corps of the tower, but still not up to standard.

"Where are all the underwear-clad damsels I was promised in exchange for my immortal soul?" Anders groaned, making certain to voice his indignation at the hardness of his pillow. "That scammer!"

Wynne was nearby, apparently grading a few papers early in the morning.

Anders had been in her "special" class for the past two years now and the two of them had managed to develop a friendly rapport in quite a short while. Initially, Anders had resented the entire thing, especially since Irving was the one who roped him into it. the, Wynne had turned out to be the woman who had managed to handle Commander Grumpypants a little while before that, which was enough to grudgingly pique his interest.

And then, it so happened that the class turned out to be more fun than the original idea Irving had given him. It didn't involve exploding rats, which was a novelty he could have introduced, but otherwise, things seemed to be relatively fun. Certainly better than most classes he was subjected to going to.

The hands-on approach regarding amusing injuries was definitely a plus.

Wynne herself was a motherly figure when she wanted to be and a stern taskmistress with the deadliest raised eyebrow on this side of the Tower when she put her mind to it. Mostly, though, she didn't let her own inner adolescent get too out of hand, even if there was occasion for a party once in a while.

"And good morning to you too, Anders." She also had a habit of addressing her students by their names, not their rank, which gave her an uncanny ability to get under their skin quickly. "Enjoyed your dreams tonight?"

She didn't even look up from her papers for the occasion. Anders was starting to feel thoroughly neglected.

"Extremely enjoyable, if those were indeed my dreams." he fired back, stretching a little. The running around certainly showed even in his waking state. Were those muscles he was growing? "Since when am I the co-star in my own nightmares? I'd like to lodge a complaint about that one!"

"I'm afraid that's generally the deal with the Harrowing." Wynne noted, scribbling a final notice with a small flourish of her quill. "Congratulations on passing, by the way. You've made it to the next round of the eternal struggle."

"Go, me! Where do I sign a drop-out form?" Anders whooped.

"Too late, my dear." Why wasn't he surprised? "But you should be proud of yourself."

"Proud that I wasn't stupid enough to sign my soul away for a petty bauble?" Best not to tell her the whole story, though. "Give me some credit, grandma."

For this, his reward constituted of a single chuckle. "Your modesty knows no bounds, Anders."

"Who needs modesty? I kicked demon butt and I looked good doing it!" Who had made the wretched statement that earrings weren't manly had obviously never seen him mastering his way through the Fade. Same thing for ponytails. His was downright macho. "All in all, successful, with the exception of the other demon being more interested in Surana than me."

"Indeed?" Finally, at _this_, her head was rising. "In what sense?"

"Now even my tutor is more interested in the bookworm at me!" Anders mimed being shot through the heart with a highly accurate arrow. He even added the swooning gesture of a palm to the forehead to emphasize the emotion. "My heart is forever broken through the coarse blade of jealousy…"

"You will have enough young impressionable things fawning over you for days to come, I'm certain." Wynne said as she briskly finished her marking. The short ponytail she wore each day was tied a little less sternly, if he was any judge. "There's no need for me to add to that."

Anders swung his feet over the edge of the divan in contentment, ready to swallow another canary. "But I like it when you fawn over me! It makes me feel all tough and grown-up!"

"You forgot manly, dear." Wynne added, shelving her reports and handing him a glass of water.

"That goes without saying… and kind of diminishes when you point it out in such a manner." At least she didn't offer him milk and cookies, though that would have brought a whole new level of awkwardness into the occasion. "The point is, this is like a rite of passage, isn't it. So today is supposed to be Anders Day. Anders is a Man Day. Or something of the sort."

"Then I'll forego your usual homework for this special occasion."

Actually, that was a very good bargain, given his usual workload. As the usually most promising but not entirely best performing student of the lot, Anders tended to be the one saddled with the most humongous pile of homework. Others told him Wynne saw his potential. Personally, he thought it was revenge for calling her grandma one too many times.

Wynne's eyes swept his form swiftly but thoroughly, with the precision of years of experience. Or maybe she had done all her inspecting when he was unconscious, which was kind of kinky from where he was standing.

"Now, it seems you haven't suffered any permanent damage in your trip through the unknown. A loss of energy is normal after the Harrowing, as is the shock, relief and the occasional boasting. In short, I'd say you're a completely normal teenaged boy."

"Man, remember?" Anders corrected, clenching his fist in a quasi-macho gesture for emphasis.

"I do apologize, dear." The fact that she was obviously sighing as loudly as she could without letting out a sound kind of ruined the effect. "Eighteen year old man, as Harrowed as they come."

"Oh, that makes me feel _so_ much better."

The turnout for fawning over him was much better in the ranks of his peers, especially the female ones.

Anders liked to think he was popular. Well, in all honesty, he was. He was one of the few who truly remembered his life outside the Tower and downright relished in the memories of what it had been like before. He also never quite submitted to the pressures of life in the Tower continued his rebellion against the templar hairstyle trend, which he personally thought had been measured according to a chamber pot put over their heads. With his devil-may-care attitude and sense of worldliness, few fears or woes and constant inability to shut up, Anders made friends whether they wanted to or not.

Usually female ones, for that matter, but that was a different story entirely.

In any case, Anders made a great show of giving his regards to his bunk-mates and nearest neighbors when the Tranquil came to collect his things, because it was truly a once-in-a-lifetime ability to gloat. Not that he could gloat over those who hadn't managed to get Harrowed – you either passed or you didn't, in which case you would never be seen again – but there were a great many of those who were around the age when one was supposed to start worrying about when their time might come. It wasn't as if there was a sheet of paper stating when one´s turn would come, after all.

Unfortunately, the awe was at first restricted to men only. With the innocence of youth gone, Anders had long since been moved to the gender-separated dormitories. Apparently, even the Tower could be prudish when it wanted to. And, by the time he managed to leave and gain access to the female dormitory, it seemed that it was time for lunch and few had made the choice to stay.

Well, in honesty, only one had, and she was unsurprisingly highly engrossed in writing what was apparently a report on the meaning of life the entire universe and just about everything else- the script was slanted and elegant in places, but increasingly tired and squiggly in others. Kind of like Surana herself, who was clearly half-trying to invent a spell to have the quill start writing on its own. Getting it to read her mind was the thing that might prove difficult, though.

It would do, for the moment. Well, actually, it was kind of great to be able to flaunt something in front of the elf herself. He had been looking forward to that at least a little more than he cared to admit.

Anders even had his best pose prepared for this occasion – the cat lounging in the corner after eating the entire menagerie of annoying pigeons. For the sake of a good show, he even leaned against the chair opposite to hers in the most relaxed fashion he could muster, while adding a smug grin for good measure.

"Well, aren't you going to congratulate me?"

Surana kept scribbling in an uncanny resemblance of Wynne, only younger and far less casual about her focus. "Your adoring crowd isn't enough for you?"

"Maybe, but hearing it from you makes me tingle all around." Anders grinned, slumming into the chair. He recognized none of the books Surana was poring through, even as he casually flipped through one. The fact that such an audacious invasion of privacy didn't procure the correct reaction from her meant that this was indeed serious.

"How flattering."

"Come on, say it. Aren't you just a teensy bit grateful that I managed to survive?"

"Grateful?" Parchment rustled before revealing two raised ash-blond eyebrows. Once again, Anders got the distinct impression of sitting in front of a particularly studious magpie. "Odd choice of words."

"No, an ideal one! After all, who would find the courage to annoy you to your face if I wasn't here?" Now that she had reached past the age of entirely carefree youth – not that the elf had ever been young or carefree, as far as Anders knew – she was regarded as a presence distinctly hard to ignore. Sort of like a perpetual molehill in an otherwise completely acceptable garden. You could try and cover it up, but it would pop back up eventually, and with a vengeance. "And take great pleasure in it as well!"

"How could I ever live without you?" she noted with a flourish of her quill, but the quip lacked the distinct point of irony she usually employed.

"You'd be a bored old wallflower, withering away in the library. Whereas with me, you have to be more creative about your hiding places."

Anders would never go as far as say they had become friends – quite the contrary, Surana was still as boring, prudish and freakishly magically potent as ever. But there was something about battling giant spiders together and linking life forces that just had to change people´s relationships. Aside from that, the Tower had actually done something against its initial purpose – bettered someone. Usually, those locked within its gloomy walls withered and paled. While the latter remained unquestionably true, Surana, like a night weed, managed to thrive in a most unexpected way. She no longer had that distinct look of a drowned person that she used to in her more bird-like younger years. In fact, Anders suspected that she could actually pass as female, if she put some effort into it.

This was still entirely diminished by the fact that her one truly close friend appeared to be that mousy little boy from years previous, who now appeared with a stack of parchments. There were people in this world that had been born to be bullied; this was one of them, Anders knew that look anywhere.

"Suri, I got your- oh, hi, Anders." the boy said, entirely glad to dump his parchments on the table. Evidently, Surana kept roping him into her tasks. "Congratulations on your Harrowing."

Anders waved his hand dismissively. "It was nothing, really. Just that age old Anders charm was enough for the toughest demons."

"I hope the same will be said for me when I'm done." He also had that scared look usually prevalent in those who didn't pass their Harrowing; that was another thing Anders was keen enough to take note of. Mentioning that point seemed a little counter-productive, though. "Anyway, I went for the confirmation you asked, but it seems that even the recommendations you sent weren't enough to get past the grand inquisition. I thus bring back a tentative refusal. Well, not so tentative, really, but, you get the idea."

Surana almost sank into the table. The boy was the only one from whom she tolerated the nickname without biting back, but this response seemed to have stumped her greatly. The grand inquisition – Anders could well imagine what that meant. Templar no-nos were legendary.

"Great. A week of research and… urgh." the elf actually knocked a roll of parchment off her workstation on purpose. This had to be serious, then, so Anders caught the flying paper neatly and snuck a not-so-secret peek.

If he was reading this correctly… "Trying to ditch the Tower before your Harrowing?" Perhaps the exploding rat years ago had had more of an impact on Surana than he had thought. "Naughty, naughty."

"No, I'm trying to get permission to participate in advanced potion making. I want to go and help gather the ingredients necessary for that." Surana explained, but didn't try to snatch the parchment back from him. Maybe he was seeing more than she wanted, or at least more clearly, and she didn't want him to suspect? Anders was sort of fond of conspiracy theories. They kept the dullness of the Tower at bay.

"Either that's a little against the rules or the Tranquil really dislike the invasion of their turf." He was rather inclined to suspect the latter most of all. Anything a mage might want was against the rules by default in the Tower, so the stern refusal had to have more to it than that.

And they had to be in cahoots with the templars – oh, what a story that would make! Anders the Amazing, having gone through his Harrowing in record time, managed to uncover the sneaky conspiracy against all that was fun and thus important in life…

The fact that a templar who appeared to be suffering from overly tight undergarments, if his expression was any indication, entered moments afterwards with a small but ancient looking book only served to reinforce this theory in Anders' perception.

"Miss S-Surana? The First Enc-chanter sent this to you." There were so many of the tinheads running around nowadays, it was getting difficult to differentiate between them, but Anders recognized Subject C from their little adventure with the spiders. The other two hadn't lasted long in the Tower before being either transferred or called away, but this one had managed to claw his way in due to a continual absence of any kind of personality. "He said you can c-continue providing support as a research a-assistant, i-if you want." Also, that stutter had to do wonders for ol' Greagoir's self-confidence.

"Wonderful." Surana groaned, looking ready to lead the Grand Revolution once she had a few drinks. Still, she looked through the book, looking none the happier.

"What's so great about that?" Anders whistled lowly, earning himself the glare he had been fishing for. Some payoff at last. "All the work and none of the payoff?"

"Thank you anyway, Cullen." The elf attempted a grateful smile, though it looked like she was trying to get out a toothpick stuck in her cheek. The templar didn't even notice, possibly due to the steam coming from his ears. Suddenly, things were being a little clearer. "At least I get access to some restricted books."

"There's books you're restricted from?" her boy asked, having a point once in a blue moon. "Maybe I've been underestimating this place."

"My campaigning for plant-collecting rights doesn't mean I'm giving up on our tutoring sessions." That was a more than credible threat, if the boy's wincing was proof enough. "We can still manage to get you to summon objects properly."

He did his best to shrug nonchalantly. "I can't help it if my inner artist sees things a bit differently than they are in reality. Look, Suri, it isn't as if anyone is ever going to allow me to actually summon animals or actual things in the Tower, so we might as well leave it as it is."

"When we're going nowhere fast, it might be best to change the destination." Anders was feeling a bit philosophical, and thus demonstrated his point by putting his feet up on the table, inches away from the possibly priceless books that Surana barely managed to get out of his way. "Get Harrowed; get lazy. There's no need to go fishing for extra credit then."

"No offense, Anders, but you're not exactly the best example on that account." the boy countered, frowning a little.

"What, me? I'm a professional slacker."

"Who made it to Senior Wynne's highly selective specialized class. That doesn't exactly add to your resume. I think Suri's actually trying to get this privilege as a means of compensating."

The elf herself gritted her teeth, apparently having dislodged that toothpick and quite ready to hurl it with her teeth. "Thank you for that, Jowan, I really needed that blow to my self-esteem."

"Just as a hypothetical question, how does it feel to know that I'm now above you in rank?" Anders, feeling particularly attention-worthy, noted, with the appropriate gestures at the end of his query. "Because I believe my emotions can be summed up by an entirely comforting nyeh-nyeh nyeh nyeh-nyeh."

Two years ago, Surana would have easily risen to the bait. This time, though, she made use of the presence of another in the room. "Did Irving mention for how long I can keep these?"

"He didn't s-specify." the templar – henceforth forever to be known as Sullen Cullen, as far as Anders was concerned – managed to get out without tripping over his own feet in the process.

"Indefinitely, then." Surana snatched the documents away from him, business-like in an instant. "Good, something's going right. Wait, was this one on the pile too?" she said, reaching for an obscure parchment that looked ready to crumble. "I've already gone through this. I'd better go return it."

"I can do that for y-you, Miss Surana."

"Someone has an admirer." Anders muttered sing-song-like under his breath, loud enough for the templar to cringe at but too soft for Surana to catch over the rustle of parchment and research excitement.

"Uh, I'm headed that way, so I can take it for you." Surana's friend quickly interjected, seeing an opportunity to escape. "And I think Anders has to report for his staff and other mage things."

That was pure supposition on his part and Anders was about to say something about it, but being bodily dragged out of the chamber after having a pile of rusty parchments dumped on you tended to immobilize a person for a second or two.


	10. Ten

Thanks to everyone who supported this story – it prompted me to continue, because I ran into a bit of a block. Which was uncool, because this story is really my pet project at this point and I really want to finish it and finish it well. But we're just getting started here – Anders hasn't officially started escaping yet. So, in case anyone has any ridiculously awesome ideas about possible escape methods, please PM me/review and mention it and I'll consider putting it into a future chapter. I have some ideas which will be implemented, but I'm definitely interested in hearing what you guys have to say.

On a side note, since we have more male characters than female ones at this point, I'll see if I can include some other canon characters/OCs in the saga. I'm also glad people seem to like Surana thus far - I'm trying to avoid a self-insert Mary Sue here with all my might, because that's always a temptation. That's one of the reasons why Anders is the POV character here - he's good at pointing out people's flaws, pre-DA2, at least.

**o.O.o**

**Ten**

**o.O.o**

Anders wasn't opposed to being manhandled on principle, assuming that the word applied in an ironic context. That is, if the one manhandling him wasn't in fact male, but an attractive girl not too far removed from his own young age. Certainly, he was willing to compromise a little on attractiveness levels and age differences, given what level of desperation he was currently going through, but if there was one category he wasn't going to compromise on, it was gender.

At the current stage of his life, Anders was relatively certain that he was perfectly content with the company of girls whenever he found himself wishing for it. And while he had nothing against the preferences of others, he was also quite certain that his first pick for experimentation wouldn't be Surana's spineless sidekick.

Thus, after he came to this point in his thought process, Anders easily and immediately yanked his hand away from his companion's insistent grip.

"What d'you do that for?" Anders accused, crossing his arms and pitching his voice to an annoyed and annoying level of whining. "I was just starting to get a bit entertained! Two minutes and Surana would have caved in for sure!"

They were a sufficient number of floors away from the elf's Templar-infested hidey-hole, so even her fetch-boy felt comfortable enough to stop for a while.

"Caved in?" After a good number of years during which he had watched Anders perfecting his art, he was still confused, though.

Fortunately, the situation had been intriguing enough for Anders to feel somewhat magnanimous, so he endeavored to explain to the smaller-minded.

"She'd have to acknowledge I was legitimately annoying her. That, my friend, is an art that deserves its dues." It was a long-term investment, unlike most of his other hobbies.

He had several interests in the Tower by now, of course, but no other was as constantly and certainly entertaining as bothering Surana whenever an opportunity presented itself. After this many years, he was justly proud of his achievements.

Jowan, on the other hand, just looked exasperated. "I'll never get why you enjoy annoying her so much."

"It's a gift." Anders shrugged, knowing that the finer points of his achievements would be entirely lost on this poor soul. As a self-proclaimed slacker, a wasted effort was one of the worst things in the world for him. "Anyway, answer the question. Why leave her with Ser Stutter? I thought you were best friends."

At one time, he had thought that this boy was Surana's only friend. The actual situation would better be described by saying that the elf was _his _only real friend; Jowan talked to other people, from what Anders had seen, but wasn't really close with anyone besides Surana. Or perhaps because of being friends with Surana – if there was anyone with more problems at making friends, it was the elf. The difference was, the midget wasn't easily bothered by such a thing.

Anders knew that first-hand – he had attempted to annoy her about the subject, receiving only a shrug of indifference in response.

"We are! Of course we are!" Too much of a protest; did he think Anders didn't have better things to do than reporting how good a friend he was when Surana wasn't around? "But I've seen this dozens of times already and, well, I don't think I have the stomach for it. You know that guy only gets like this when Suri's around." Actually, Anders hadn't really noticed much. Sullen Cullen wasn't exactly the most rewarding of prank-ees, so he had been ignored for the most part until now. "She's... she's like part-sister, part-mom to me. It's very odd seeing someone think of her as a girl."

"Wait, _dozens _of times?" Anders's eyes bulged a little; this prime comedic material had been right under his nose and he hadn't noticed it? Damn Wynne and her insistence at doing autopsies outside of Tower bounds – not only had she killed his personal life for a few weeks, she had deprived him of the joys of teasing Surana to the best of his ability! "She's actually-"

"Of course not." Oh, thank the Maker. Anders had been worried there for a second or so. "I don't think she even notices, really. You know what she's like."

The boy was right on that one; there was no chance that Surana would come to the conclusion that a templar's constant presence in her vicinity had any romantic connotations. She'd chalk it up to Greagoir's general distrust I her abilities, most likely. And, in all likelihood, she'd usually be right.

"Oh, but don't you see the comedic gold you have there? I thought the tinhead had a bit of a crush on her, but this is brilliant!" So he'd torture the Templar instead of Surana – that just meant that he didn't have to hold back any. Brilliant. "How long do you think this can last? This tower needs some proper entertainment!"

Poor kid, though. They had to go through something terrible throughout their training if they found Surana more attractive than the remainder of the distinctly more uninhibited female population of the Tower… or perhaps this one was just special, in a thoroughly terrifying way. However this went in the end, there'd be loads of giggles to be had along the way.

"It won't be long… some people have already started noticing." Jowan seemed to have mostly forgotten about having to deliver that piece of parchment, and so Anders easily took charge and proceeded to head towards the kitchens. A snack was in order. "Mostly girls from our classes, I think. Look, I know you like annoying Suri-"

Like? That was an insult! "It's an art form that only a few can master!" Anders noted solemnly, putting many a zealot to shame.

"-but I'd appreciate if you wouldn't use this to bug her." Jowan finished, undeterred. He seemed to have started practicing the fine art of not listening to something other people were saying, or at least filtering through most of the nonsense.

"Are you kidding? Too obvious! I'm an artist! Besides, it's much more entertaining to watch more people squirm at the same time." And Surana wasn't the centerpoint of his world; being upstaged in his own Harrowing was more than enough to fulfill his elf-quota for the week. It would actually be refreshing to see who else he could bother. The elf was just the start!

In fact, this could possibly be the start of a whole new discipline – using their relationships with other people to annoy the hell out of the Templars. Indirect and effective, this could entertain him for the next few weeks, at least.

For now, he'd have to make do with this boy, though. Well, that brought Anders back to his initial point – this was Surana's sidekick. There was a myriad of questions that could be posed to this rare and exotic creature in the almost unprecedented privacy away from Surana herself.

Of course, these questions would find their way straight back to the elf, so he'd have to be crafty about how he got his information. And Anders was the expert in sneaking around and avoiding revealing his intentions, what with the years of sneaking around with giggling companions.

Thus, fooling one boy barely armed in the art of combat by sarcasm should hardly be difficult for a master such as him.

"So, is that why you volunteered to play fetch?" Usually, he just got volunteered, so it wasn't exactly the same thing. Close, but not the same. "You know it just encourages the elf to make you her whipping boy."

Not that any encouragement was usually necessary; Surana could very easily make anyone weak-willed enough her personal fetch-this bring-me-that person. But it really didn't help that Anders had to stand by his usual assessment of this boy; he just didn't have the personality to make it far above the label of lackey in the world.

Surprisingly, Jowan only shrugged. "If it means I don't have to study with her, I'm more than willing to do it."

That was a point right there – who would want to? Studying with the elf was kind of like attempting to cut your hair with a butter knife; possible in theory, but frustrating and beyond difficult in reality.

"Doesn't she have any other hobbies? Or any other friends?" Not that Anders really needed to know; he understood enough about the elf for purposes of annoying her, but going beyond that point required going beyond merely the study of the elf. He had to observe her surroundings as well.

"I know this one girl that has a bunk near hers that Suri talks to… Petrice, Petra? One of those, anyway." Jowan waved his hand dismissively, displaying his opinion of girls and the remainder of his so-called friend's life for all to see. In fact, Anders was starting to suspect that those of female persuasion were a thoroughly uninteresting topic for the kid. "Otherwise, not that I know of."

Two points on the counter in favor of that theory, then.

And didn't he have anyone else to hang out with, either? Shock-ing! "You, my friend, are in desperate need of companionship beyond the mad midget." Anders announced sagely.

"It's not all bad. Difficult homework assignments are always easier when you've got someone who doesn't look at you like you're an idiot for not getting it."

"Just as if they were inherently superior." They had reached the kitchens and Anders wasted no time before moving towards his favorite section; the highly-craved deserts reserved for every Sunday. They were always hidden in a different part of the kitchen, sometimes warded, and it was always a challenge to get to them before their appointed time.

Anders rarely found himself foiled in his pursuit of cake.

"It's still better." Jowan objected, though the wobble in his voice might have been because of finding himself in the presence of the super-rare chocolate cake of legend. Most of the Tower's residents believed it to be little more than a cruel lie.

"Quite." Anders agreed, taking pity on the poor sod and offering him a slice of the less sugar-overdosed cake. He certainly didn't need to have murder by sugar on his conscience the day after he got harrowed. "I meant a girl you like eh, better than a friend. One that doesn't think reading about elemental magic is the most exciting thing you can do when alone."

Two more points to the doesn't-like-girls meter for this kid were added upon him reddening in a way that suggested he hadn't thought of such a thing for at least two days, which clearly wasn't normal at his age. Anders knew that; he was nearly a healer as well as one of those afflicted by hormones.

"Oh. There isn't anyone I really like…"

"Please, that doesn't have to have anything to do with things." He didn't necessarily like chocolate cake well enough to take such a large slice, but he was doing it just on principle – because it was forbidden, and thus he was rebelling against conventions. Also, he really liked the sweet cream in the middle of some of the types of cake. "Just find someone you can tolerate for an hour or so, have fun, never speak of it again if it helps you. Easy as pie."

"Maybe for you. I'm not so sure." Given the way he was eying the cake as if inspecting it for rat poison, Anders wasn't surprised.

"Come on, even if you got unlucky enough to find a clingy one, at least Surana'd have someone to practice her passive-aggressive face on." Of course, that would upstage him, or at least make things somewhat more difficult for his purposes.

"Please don't do it, then. Some of us still have to live in this place." The voice of his laziness turned out to be feeling external today; out of all his classmates, Niall was the only one who could be lucky enough to know his general hidey-holes when Anders needed to be located. He turned up with a bunch of parchments in his hands and the general put-out expression of one sent on a pointless errand. The difference was, Niall's usually resigned and apathetic attitude meant that he was managing extremely well.

The lone Junior Enchanter in the room grinned widely. "Speak of the lonely and increasingly desperate…"

"Some of us have actual responsibilities to uphold, Anders. Part of those being hunting down shameless slackers who think getting Harrowed excuses them from partaking in mandatory activities for a week. Hi, I'm Niall." he added upon noticing that his classmate had company in the possession of possible brain cells.

"Jowan."

Niall proceeded to toss one of the rolls to Anders, who managed to catch it and glance at something that warranted this much work from the point of view of the higher-ups, who usually delegated as much as possible and blackmailed others into the rest.

"Wouldn't it have been easier to just have someone make an official announcement at dinner?" When people were forced to listen even if they didn't want to? Not that he expected anyone to have a dose of common sense between these idiots.

"I suspect no one would have actually believed it without an official signature." Niall shrugged, nodding towards the parchment. Even Jowan grabbed a scroll. "Have a read of that."

The scrawl was unfortunately clearly legible and very decipherable. There went that excuse, damn it. Most of the sad piece of parchment was covered with a wall of text that Anders didn't really bother reading, aside from some crucial keywords. These being outside (which was the single piece of positive information), exercise, physical education, mandatory and…

Wait…

"What in the name of Andraste's lacy brasserie is this supposed to mean?" Anders blurted out, finally connecting the pieces and almost choking on his cake. The fact that Niall was observing him with a serene expression was doing nothing for his nerves – he was the one supposed to be bringing amusing bad news to others, not the other way around, Maker damn it.

His almost-sedated classmate actually almost chuckled, which was akin to hysterical laughter for Niall. "How d'you even come up with those things?" he asked, genuinely interested.

Imagining the well-spoken if morose apprentice trying to learn the art of creative and yet polite swearing from him was almost enough to take some of the sting away, but Anders wasn't much of a teacher himself.

"I improvise. What's the deal with this guy?" he added, finding among the delirious text the mention of the unlucky sod who had actually survived proposing this insanity to the Knight-Commander. "And how come he's been allowed to live after going through with this?"

Grumpybear had to be losing his touch, really. In the good old days, this would have meant a dishonorable dismissal, at best. They let anyone into the Tower nowadays, no standards at all. At least the cake had gotten better, so only the Templars were afflicted. Anders had to take another grateful bite out of his cake.

"I have no idea, but I hear it's been debated for a while and only now surfaced with approval." Niall explained, "Apparently, it's been Chantry-improved, so there isn't much the Knight-Commander can do against this knight's efforts."

Anders shook his head, whistling quietly to himself. His young companion finally managed to recover from the initial shock, but couldn't manage more than a few words at a time. Not that Anders blamed him; the kid looked like he'd never carried anything heavier than a box of shoes in his life.

"Allowing us to go outside – let alone commanding that we do?"

"I know, right?" Niall looked surprisingly happy about this, despite the fact that he himself wasn't getting out of it. Or perhaps he was just trying to make the most of having to spread the word about it to others. "You should see how Florian from the afternoon history class is taking it. I think we'll be seeing an organized protest within the next three days. In any case, that there's a signed copy – let people know."

Anders could understand that; he, too, would have usually dismissed this as a prank in distinctly poor taste.

"Normally I'd tell you where you can shove it, but this is just crazy enough to be highly entertaining."

"How are we supposed to go swimming?" Oh, great, Surana's boy was overcoming his silent disposition. Anders really didn't need a running commentary of every detail they were going through. "We don't have any bathing suits or water-resistant clothes… the less physically disposed among us will sink right away!"

"The more interesting question is who's going to be teaching us."

"No, no… the real question is how long until someone starts a revolution." Anders countered, stealing a bit of Jowan's cake while the boy was too busy being horrified.

**o.O.o**

They all but forgot about the paper they were meant to be delivering to the First Enchanter, but Anders wasn't too surprised to find it among his possessions later that day. Not that he actually thought Surana's sidekick had the cunning or the daring to pawn it off on him on purpose. It was more likely that he had been too horror-struck by the insanity of the templars' newest pet project that he had just missed it somehow.

In any case, Anders wasn't that horribly bothered by it; as the more-or-less best student in Wynne's classes, it wasn't that much of a problem for him to swallow a little of his pride and ask her to deliver the requisition order. When he wanted to be, Anders could actually be polite and charming. That, unfortunately, usually didn't happen often unless he had something exceptional to gain.

In a few days, news of the Chantry's latest attempt at trying to relate to their situation had reached all of the Tower's residents – most of them especially thanks to Anders's own efforts. He had been looking forward to Surana's reaction most of all, after she'd find out that all of them would be leaving the Tower for a while whether they wanted to or not and that her efforts had been wasted.

Sure enough, Niall's prediction turned out to be accurate - ol' Flora (hey, with a name like that, it was just too easy to make jokes and embarrassing nicknames) was on the verge of organizing a student protest against the horror of going outside. The reaction of others ranged from stunned horror to uncomprehending screaming.

It was real, though. This was going to happen next week, the moment the new contingent of Templars arrived. Even the Knight-Commander looked less than thrilled about these orders and the Tower's general mood was a grim one.

But Surana was oddly absent from this latest happening in the Tower, and Anders had troubles of his own to content with. For instance, the fact that his new rooms weren't anywhere within easy access to the girls' dormitories. Also, the fact that someone seemed to constantly want things from him nowadays. At first, only his measurements, what kind of staff he'd like and if his new Circle ring fit. Nowadays, it was more invasive than just simple physical examinations.

"There you are, Anders." Wynne now had the impressive knack for showing up whenever he was making some headway with apprentices easily impressed by the sight of a scholarly Junior Enchanter. "I managed to find the necessarily books for you to continue with your classes."

Said books formed a lovely stack that looked about half Surana's size. The apprentices, horrified by the barely legible titles on some of the tomes, were retreating already, so Anders's mood was already dropping.

"Classes?" he repeated, as if the very word left a bad taste in his mouth. And it did, kind of. What was it about some words that just tasted wrong? "I thought getting Harrowed meant that I didn't have to bother with classes anymore."

The look he received from his tutor spoke volumes… volumes he decidedly didn't want to have to read. Anders liked books well enough, but usually books that dealt with impressive tricks.

"A wise mage always has more to learn." Wynne pronounced solemnly, but then took pity on his flabbergasted expression. Or possibly succumbed a little to the despairing puppy eyes Anders was cultivating. "Passing the Harrowing moves you to the next level of your education. You can either specialize in a specific branch of magic or move to mentoring the youngest apprentices."

Those last four words would have caused Anders to need to sit down if he wasn't already. "_Teacher training_?" Oh, that tasted even worse than classes. "With the whiny little-"

"Anders." He shut up obediently, because one couldn't mess with his tutor once she put on her business hat. Anders wouldn't have put it past her to be the one masterminding the terror that was physical education for mages; she was the only person he knew that could subdue even Greagoir. "Your unwillingness to work with children has been noted. I'm giving you the opportunity to continue your training in Creation. Childish frivolity aside-"

"Hey! You admitted I was a man last time!" Low blows weren't beyond Wynne's dignity. Just another show of what terrifying mistakes could be made by assuming that little old ladies were helpless and kind.

"Physically, you are, dear." the Senior Enchanter conceded, "Now you'll just have to see about your mental process catching up to that. As I was saying, you are a talented student. I'd be glad if you continued your training with me."

Anders didn't even have to put it on a mental scale to weigh his options. In a contest between Wynne and children, there was only one possible winner, though he'd never to as far as admitting it.

"And once I finish this, I can finally rest? Or at least decide what I will be doing based on what I want to do?"

"For the most part. As part of the healing corps, you're likely to be involved in out-of-Tower assignments somewhat more than other mages. Healers enjoy a bit more trust than most of our colleagues and our abilities are more easily accepted by the non-magical public. However, that also means that we have a responsibility to represent mages to these people."

"Come on; you have to admit, if there's one thing that I'm stellar at, it's impressing people with my natural charm." To emphasize his point, Anders turned on his winning grin that worked on almost anything sentient and female.

One of the two exceptions, sitting in front of him, remained unimpressed and sighed.

"Much to my chagrin. But remember, you'll still have to obey the rules of the Circle, even if you happen to be outside of its stronghold."

"Rats!" Anders flicked through one of the healing tomes. Some of those diseases looked nasty, but nothing could match some of the templars's faces. So it was a good trade off. "Well, I suppose it'll all be easier in case I can do something I actually enjoy… and don't have to deal with too many conscious annoyances."

Wynne's expression was indulgent – obviously, she thought that if that's how he wanted to see things, who was she to spoil his naïve ideas? The library was quieting down with the presence of several Senior Enchanters, which wasn't to her liking as far as Anders knew, so they didn't stay for too long. Fortunately, they were also able to leave some of the offending books behind, since Anders couldn't be expected to do everything in one go. Also, even healers tended to specialize, so the stack ended up being just about a third of Surana's height.

He suspected that Wynne picked out the heaviest books for him, though. She made him carry them all, of course. Preparation for physical education, she'd no doubt say if he dared ask questions.

"This means that you have to do the swimming practice." she remarked on the way towards their usual classroom.

It wasn't entirely unexpected, but Anders thought she was picking up some of his best traits after this long-term exposure to his charm. Such as this tendency to leave the worst news for last.

"I was wondering about that – why? Just… why?"

"From the way you're underreacting, I'll assume that you already know how to swim yourself." Wynne didn't know much about his pre-Tower past, but she was good at reading him by now. Which was possibly why she usually gave him suspicious glasses whenever the cooks tried to guilt-trip the famous cookie thief into confessing by summoning all the possible suspects to the main hall. "To be honest, I really don't understand the logic behind it. Taking walks around the island is a great idea – everyone who lives in a single place for a long time is bound to become tired of it. But the lake? It's like they're deliberately trying to give apprentices ideas."

Ideas? Ideas… but… no, certainly not. They wouldn't…

Although…

There was more inherent stupidity in this plan than these Templars had realized.

Now Anders had even more to think about than ever. Wynne was looking at him oddly, so obviously he wasn't showing a disinterested face. Letting others see your thought process wasn't the hallmark of a successful thief; Anders quickly grinned in the most manic way he could manage, imagining the Templars trying to swim in their armor. Or were they going to take the tin off for their lessons?

"Well, I'm sure the rumors about potions being dumped into the water will be enough to deter the more creative among us." Here, even he had to wrinkle his nose. "Let alone where the contents of the privies might end up."

That wasn't the best thing to think about, considering he had already ended up in that lake twice in years past. But then again, another important skill was to be prepared for everything… even the unsavory things.

"Hopefully." Wynne looked unconvinced, but she still found the case holding a small lizard for him to work his literal magic on today. "I just wish there was more space on the grounds for this idea of physical education to involve some more productive activities."

"Like hopscotch?" He could go for that, assuming there were stakes involved. Strip hopscotch, perhaps? Physical activity, fun and entertainment all in one!

"Like gardening." Wynne corrected, taking out the lizard and fishing out set of tools for the autopsy of the day. "That way, I wouldn't have to wait a fortnight for my supplies of herbal supplements."

"And perhaps a wine-yard, so we don't have to explain to the Tranquil why anyone would voluntarily consume known intoxicants to celebrate, right?"

Given the fact that the tool she had fished out was a scalpel, that might not have been the right thing to say. "Careful, young man, or your first official sampling of celebratory alcohol will also prove to be your last."


	11. Note on updates

NEW NOTE: I am currently rereading this story to establish the next plotline. It is among those listed to be finished. Please stand by. :)


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